The Exterior II
by KhajiitInTheWilderness
Summary: Sequel to The Exterior. A plague has struck Tamriel, and it is estimated it has one year to live. J'tar is chosen to go back out into Nirn along with the old crew and discover habitable land. S'rashi is a Khajiit slave forced to go onto the voyage. With no experience fighting, he must adapt if he is to survive. Rated T for language, violence, the works.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I: Prologue**

 **Before you read, you should know this is the sequel to my most popular story, The Exterior.**

 **If that wasn't obvious by the title ;)**

 **But anyway, my name is KhajiitInTheWilderness, but you probably already knew that.**

 **I write a bit differently than other authors, and the main reason I say that is because of reader OC's.**

 **There is an OC form at the bottom of every chapter until the deadline, and that deadline is usually near the end of the story, so you've got plenty of time.**

 **Please use the most updated form as they are subject to change!**

 **For returning readers, you'll notice that instead of being in short sentences, the story is now in 2-3 sentence small paragraphs.**

 **None of that choppy stuff.**

 **I'm actually writing this before the final chapter of The Exterior is done, and as I write this it is a WIP.**

 **The lore is changed just a bit, you can submit the Akaviri races, Tang Mo, Lilmothiit, and Tsaesci. And you can use them as your OC's! Although you guys didn't seem interested in them except for Wolvia and Kezahkan**

 **And there will be inconstancies because I have a very basic knowledge of Elder Scrolls having only played Skyrim and a short bit of ESO.**

 **You should also know that the reason Do' bar isn't spelled Do'bar is so I won't have to deal with autocorrect and that pesky grammar corrections…**

 **Hate those blue squiggly lines…**

 **And this story takes place after Skyrim, which is the farthest game in the series, chronologically.**

 **I was actually thinking of making an Orc the main character but I realized that probably wouldn't be a good idea since we already have J'tar.**

 **Plus my name is Khajiit In The Wilderness. I actually wanted to name it Orc In The Wilderness since Orcs are my favorite but Khajiits are Elder Scrolls exclusive and Orcs are in those disgusting MMOs…**

 **Bethesda, wtf were you thinking with ESO?**

 **But enough of my crap.**

 **You're here to hear my story's crap ;)**

— **-—-—**

The Khajiit rolled his eyes under his hood at the hesitant guards. They weren't sure if they should allow him in, even if he did have the Emperor's invitation. But eventually they let him into the city.

This wasn't Cyrodil, nor any other of the central Tamriel cities, but Solitude, in all its glory. He remembered Molan telling him he had been here a few times, back when he was young and he didn't have as much… Problems on his hands. Bloodthirsty, feral, inhuman problems. Then again, the Khajiit had those problems as well.

He pulled the sleeve of his cloak down to conceal his werewolf scar. He didn't reckon anyone could see, but he didn't want any trouble with the guards. He hadn't touched a sword in five years… He pulled back his hood to see all the grandeur of Solitude.

He was tall for a Khajiit, almost 1.8 meters (6 feet), with gray fur and black tiger-like markings on his face, vibrant green eyes and a short black military style Mohawk. 32 years of age, one of which years was spent serving as a slave to a high elf.

J'tar was thinly built, not muscular or intimidating at all. He was sly, and talked himself out of situations more than picking a fight. Some would call him a coward. But they didn't know what exactly he'd been through. While the other survivors of the voyage were honored with statues and epics, poems, and ballads… He had nothing.

Do' bar didn't either. They didn't want Khajiits to be honored. Do' bar and J'tar weren't much of Khajiits either. They spoke normally, having been taught by their master Ganlas not to say "this one" and "J'tar/Do' bar" when speaking of themselves.

Every time J'tar saw a slave, he felt pity and even a pang of guilt later on having not done anything. Then he reminded themselves the law only permitted Khajiit criminals as slaves. He'd committed a wide variety of crimes in his youth, and he found it sickening he felt that he was somewhat deserving of his bondage.

J'tar finally arrived at the archway leading into to Castle Dour. The guards once more hesitantly allowed him through. It was getting a tad bit annoying… He followed a servant to the Emperor's quarters, unknown to what awaited him.

Perhaps he would finally get the honor he deserved. Do' bar would be there… It would be the first time they'd seen one another in years… But it was always something unexpected, J'tar reasoned. He flashed the guards his invitation, but they confidently let him past. Penitus Oculatus were of a higher caliber than regulars, he supposed.

The throne room was excellent, with red carpeting and golden chandeliers. The walls were adorned with hunting trophies, bears and deer, foxes and rabbits, even a spriggan. But that wasn't the center of J'tar's attention.

The crew was there. Only a few of them, plus a couple of new faces. A wide grin stretched across J'tar's face, as Yag, Molan, Do' bar, Torriath, Serrgius, Serah, Wolvia, and the now older Azi came into view. J'tar assumed the rest must have been the planners of the original voyage, or perhaps those who built it.

The Emperor must've been gathering them for an award ceremony… And perhaps the Khajiits would finally get the respect they had longed for…

But most were not smiling. Perhaps it was a ceremony to honor the dead? He could still feel the dead weight of Kezahkan in his arms, and Rohan's blood trickling down his hands… He convulsed in utter disgust and fright.

"My friends," the Emperor spoke, drawing their attention. "As you all know, Tamriel has been struck by a plague." J'tar nodded. His home city of Dune was deserted due to the disease that conquered Eastern Tamriel.

"I have kept this from my citizens, but my court mage predicts we have a single year left before Tamriel is completely…" He didn't finish. A solemn and uncomfortable silence settled over the room like the fog of Black Marsh.

"You have been chosen to sail out, into the exterior of Tamriel. Some of you have been selected because you are members of the previous voyage. We assume from the… _Specimens_ you returned with, you've dealt with several of the beasts indigenous to the area."

Yes… J'tar could remember every last detail of the voyage. He touched the eyepatch he'd worn since the fateful day he was blinded in his right eye. He felt the rough patch of fur where the werewolf known as Pierric bit him… He felt the weight of Rohan's blade in the sheath at his belt.

He remembered it all too well…

—-—-—

Five years earlier

"The ship's going under!"

J'tar stumbled forward as the ship rocked. So did his heavily armored opponent. It was beginning to break in two. He didn't know how anchors worked, but he wagered it wouldn't stop them from sinking. Unfortunately, his side was beginning to go down first.

The rupture was a few feet behind him, where most of the crew were. "J'tar! Get out of there!" Yag and Do' bar were almost completely surrounded by grays, which was their name for their enemies. They fought with speed and valor, but they would be overtaken.

J'tar was kicked by the heavily armored man, and it sent him to the deck. He tried to get up, but his opponent quickly pinned him, the weight of the bigger man and the plate armor holding J'tar down. If the man started punching, with his steel gauntlets… J'tar could easily be bludgeoned to death.

But the ship full broke away as the man's fist raised. Now he was off balance. J'tar slipped out from under him and kicked him with both feet, sending the man tumbling down the ship's deck, which was slowly becoming vertical.

J'tar found himself sliding, first slowly, then picking up speed. The waters below were raging with a storm, and J'tar would likely not survive if he was overtaken by them. He got up as the ship became slightly diagonal, standing awkwardly with one hand on the ship's deck to steady himself.

The ship shifted from diagonal to vertical. J'tar jumped, and landed on what had once been the wall, but was now the roof of the storage area. He could hear barrels sliding out below him, and he hoped they would hit any grays hanging on below.

Someone grabbed his foot. J'tar kicked them and ran forward, not bothering to look at who it was. He turned around and drew Rohan's sword, encrusted with the blood of its previous owner and his enemies alike.

The man J'tar kicked pulled himself onto the ledge. To J'tar, he was twice as evil as a Daedric prince. No, _tenfold._ The one who had caused him so much pain. Who had bit him and turned him into a beast. J'tar found himself foaming at the mouth.

"I figured you would still be alive. The gods favor me, boy. They kept you from being killed just so I could personally kill you…" J'tar contemplated leaping off the ledge just so the man wouldn't have the pleasure of killing him.

"Pierric."

"J'tar."

J'tar knew that Pierric wanted him to make the first move. He was using J'tar's own rage against him.

And the bad thing was… He fell for it.

J'tar yelled a war cry and ran at Pierric with intent to kill. Pierric sidestepped, but J'tar had anticipated this. He lunged off to the side and ran Pierric through, sending him rolling almost over the edge and to an icy, watery death below.

J'tar seethed with anger as he walked over to Pierric, who was laying on the ground. He put his foot on the sword and pushed it in, until Pierric was literally pinned to the ground. But this wouldn't be the end. Pierric's eyes glowed red.

J'tar backed away as Pierric ripped the sword from his chest. He threw it at J'tar, and empty move since it was so easy to dodge. But it came with tenfold the normal speed, and grazed J'tar's shoulder. Pierric began to grow black fur with a bluish tint.

His arms and legs elongated, and his fingers became claws. His face erupted in fur, and a long snout formed from what had once been his mouth and nose. His ears became like that of a wolf. And his teeth grew sharp, perhaps the most disturbing of all the transformations.

Pierric ran at J'tar, who rolled out of the way. Strategies formed in the Khajiit's head, half brained plans that probably wouldn't work, but were worth a shot. Pierric roared, and it seemed that J'tar's surroundings became even darker.

One swat, and J'tar would be flung like an arrow off into the raging ocean below.

The sword Pierric had thrown was stuck in the ground, not by the blade, but the force of the throw was enough to drive the _hilt_ into the ground, with the blade sticking out at an angle. J'tar made note not to go near it.

Pierric leaped up into the air, and J'tar barely had time to move before he landed, splintering the wood, and likely weakening the structure. The force knocked J'tar over and sent him almost sliding off the edge, his claws sinking into the wood and anchoring him.

J'tar rushed forward towards Pierric, but then realized his mistake; his sword was still stuck in the wood. He slid under Pierric's swipe and kicked him in the back. It wasn't much, but it was enough to stun Pierric momentarily.

J'tar leapt onto Pierric's back, put his arms around Pierric's neck in a hold, anchored his feet on Pierric's back, and pulled as hard as he could. He could hear the cracks and pops in the feral bones… Just a bit further and he could snap Pierric's neck…

It was a great effort to stay on, as Pierric ran around and shook, trying to throw J'tar off. J'tar shut his eyes and pulled as hard as he could, a growl in his through manifesting into a full-fledged cry of vengeance and pain, every fiber in his body screaming at him to kill the man, lactic acid flooding his muscles, and feeling like daggers had been driven into his eyes…

The final crack was like a catapult being fired. Pierric's back was bent at an awkward angle, his neck and maybe even his spine snapped clean in half. J'tar fell off his back and laid there, his limbs stretched out, his eyes shut, not caring about the annihilation going on around him.

Pierric reverted back to human form, his back and neck still terribly bent. He was dead. But the Aetherian tool beside him said otherwise. The red glowing pyramid rose up into the air, and began to pulsate. J'tar's eyes snapped open.

He got up and grabbed the pyramid, taking the power from it and putting out the light. He threw it as far as he could over the horizon. He'd lost the other pyramid earlier, and he hoped it was somewhere at the bottom of the sea.

But with his luck…

He ripped out Rohan's blade, reaching into the fissure which it had made and pulling it out by the hilt.

J'tar began to climb up the ship, anchoring himself with Rohan's sword, until Yag and Do' bar pulled him onto the stable side of the ship. The wounded were being treated, and prisoners had been taken. The ship had been successfully defended.

The young Khajiit breathed a sigh of relief, but then out of the corner of his eye, saw a prisoner staring at him. He looked towards the one so intently fixed on him only to reel back in surprise. He'd seen that face so many times before. The Khajiit boy who had been his best friend. Who he'd grown up with. The one who taught him how to fight. How to survive. The one who he promised he'd come back for.

An empty promise.

J'tar saw his own moves mirrored as the Khajiit slammed the back of his head into his captor's face, simultaneously grabbing the dagger from his sheath and ran at J'tar, in stabbing position. Yag drew her Orcish greatsword and swung at him, but he rolled under the swipe and kept running until he reached the railing. He jumped on top and then dove off.

"Even after all these years," J'tar said to himself, "you aren't dead. Stubborn bastard…"

—

 **So the ending to this chapter was also the canon ending for The Exterior!**

 **And it wasn't even and ending choice.**

 **Yeah, there were multiple endings. Like I said, I like to do things a bit differently.**

 **Brutus' guess was close.**

 **Chapters will be longer next time, around 3000. This one was around 2700.**

 **And to understand the pyramid and Pierric, and J'tar losing his eye and becoming a werewolf, who Rohan and Kezahkan were and all that jazz, I recommend you read The Exterior!**

 **However it does not give you insight as to who the familiar face J'tar saw is!**

 **Muhahahahahaha…**

 **There's like… 19 Chapters if you don't count the two authors notes. Each of them are 1000 words.**

 **Looking back on myself, I feel like such an amateur… Ugh…**

 **And the lines that separate the intros and outtros from the story have a pattern now! Actually I'm not sure if you guys can see it or not since changes the lines**

 **When using the OC form, please remember to use the latest version as they are subject to change!**

 **This one might not be up to date because I just copy pasted it from chapter 12 of The Exterior and then made a few edits.**

 **The Form**

 **Name:**

 **Race:**

 **Gender:**

 **Age:**

 **Role on the ship:**

 **Appearance:**

 **Weapons:**

 **Optional**

 **-—-—-—**

 **History:**

 **Skills:**

 **Weaknesses:**

 **Abilities:**

 **Faction:**

 **Personality:**

 **Other:**


	2. Chapter 2

**So as I'm writing this intro, I really wonder if I should post the first chapter now…**

 **Of course, if you're reading this Chapter 1 has been posted.**

 **And I found out not only can you guys not see the patterns in the lines bu . n e t is deleted as well…**

 **Tf?**

 **Just finished The Exterior.**

 **And Isle Repentance is in my face blasting Skrillex at top volume**

 **And Mortal Kombat is like chained to a fvcking wall-**

 **I might just dig up Kombat Academy from the grave a bit early…**

 **I was asked to enter a wattpad contest and submit a completed work in the Fan fiction section… But The Exterior admittedly is very amateur.**

 **Plus the person who invited me read Kombat Academy and that wasn't even a quarter finished so I definitely won't make the contest but next time I get invited to one, I'll submit this story.**

 **-w- so tired right now…**

 **I remember back in the summer when I was writing this really amateur Assassin's Creed story under a different penname. I've had like three different pennames now…**

 **I would update every day. Literally every day.**

 **The plot was going nowhere. But I looked at the five reviews I got today, and I literally convulsed in embarrassment at how I made up having a really big headache issue and then ditching the whole account.**

 **It was about Arno's final apprentice, in his old age. I figured people would be attracted if I used canon characters but it was just the opposite.**

 **The apprentice was named Harper, and was from America. And then there was this dude named Cedric but he went by "Lynx" and he was an Assassin spy in the Templars.**

 **One of the reviews was like this five paragraph critique behemoth that was written by Ezio Auditore… 's grandfather.**

 **Someone out there doesn't know what that is. With what's become of the franchise I can't tell you if that's good or bad. All I know is I want Syndicate!**

 **I might be writing some Assassin's Creed sooner or later once I get back into the game.**

 **I have this weird tradition for Christmas every year where my family takes Christmas pictures at a local park, then I replay all of Assassin's Creed 1, watch that Christmas movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger (the one where he says PUT THAT COOKIE DOWN can't remember what it is called but thank the Divines for autocorrect), and drink special edition LeBron sprite.**

 **I swear that last one is a real thing.**

 **Yeah, I'm a bit strange if you haven't been able to tell by my other Authors notes**

 **Autocorrect leveled up sneaking to 100 so I couldn't detect when I changed something…**

 **But I got 9 Perception!**

 **Sorry wrong game.**

 **My jabbering is now 2 Kilobytes so this chapter will have more than usual words to make up for it!**

— **-—-—**

J'tar stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. So, this really was happening. His worst terrors had become a waking nightmare.

Going back out. Killing people… He shivered in disgust. And here he was, prepared to finally settle down, move back to Skyrim, buy himself a house, maybe even have a family… It was all over. And all the Emperor would do was eat sweet rolls and occasionally get off his throne to address the public.

Part of J'tar told him he would die. And he believed it. He'd came too close too many times. And his luck was going to run out soon. His gaze settled on the window, casting white moonlight on the large yet hollow feeling bedroom.

Perhaps it would serve as his escape route…? But where would he go? The Emperor himself said Tamriel had a year to live. And he was one of the few chosen to escape the dying land. Better to take a chance than wait around and rot.

He sighed. Lost in his own hollow philosophy once more. In his thirties and acting like a Greybeard… It happened so often these days. He laughed, remembering his first theft, a sweetroll. And from there, he began to steal more things, which led him into being a bandit, which led him to prison, which led him to Ganlas, then the first voyage, and now…

He had been killed by a damn sweetroll.

—

As J'tar went to the large stone balcony to look at the new ship in the docks, he felt a presence behind him. He knew who it was, and what their purpose was. He swung around and blocked their strike, grabbing their arm and wrenching it forward into a hold, his foot planted firmly on their back.

"Good to see you still remember how to fight, old friend." J'tar grinned and let go of Do' bar. "It's been too long." "Indeed. Sweetroll?" J'tar shivered. "No, thank you." They walked over to the railing and leaned against it. J'tar beheld the beautiful instrument of exploration.

It was as large as the first ship, give or take a few. But this one had steel plating on the sides, and a ram, as well as several archer turrets. It was outfitted for combat. They probably wouldn't have lost around a quarter of the crew in the last voyage if they had those.

From this standpoint, J'tar could also look down on the city streets below, at the children running around, the vendors over in the circle, and the guards, pompously strolling around in their red and gray armor.

The sky was overcast, a light gray, and bright white patches of sun broke through like arrows through a magic ward. The two Khajiit stood in silence for a moment, admiring the two objects set before them. "Have you met any of the new people, J'tar?"

J'tar shook his head. "I haven't bothered with them." "Just like you, shy as always." "I prefer stoic." Do'bar laughed. "You haven't changed a bit, old friend… But let's go down to the ship. They leave in two hours… Why so abruptly, I wonder?" "Because they don't want us to have a choice in staying."

—-—-—

Most of the crew was already aboard, but some were saying goodbye to families or buying things from the marketplace. The way J'tar saw it, there were three kinds of people in Tamriel; the idiotic Nords, Stuck up High Elves, and everyone else.

They went ahead and picked out all the warriors, and they went into the on-board tavern to get drunk. It was then the ship set off, without so much as ten or so spectators at the dock. No one waved goodbye, they just chattered amongst themselves. J'tar remembered last time… He'd had Windhelm guards on him when he boarded.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder. J'tar looked over his shoulder to find empty space, but then looked down to find a small brown Khajiit with messy fur. "Azi." "J'tar. Good to see friendly faces, no?" J'tar smiled. "Indeed. So, how old are you now, little one?"

Azi had been a stowaway on the last voyage at the age of 12. "This one is not sure... Perhaps around sixteen?" "Alas… Still too young…" "Azi was on the Empire's lists." "Empire loves their damn lists…" J'tar muttered. "Good day for sailing. Strong winds will take this one to the islands." "Perhaps. Though I would prefer warm deserts." "Aye. Good luck, J'tar." With that, Azi walked away. J'tar watched the young one enter the cabins to look around. The thought hit him that she could be among the dead at the end of the voyage… He wouldn't let that happen.

He watched several slaves board and looked away. He pretended he hadn't saw them. At least eight of them. Terrible… All in shackles.

He remembered his own shackles and looked down at his wrists to find they were still there. His eyes widened as he looked up and saw Ganlas. "Volunteer, boy."

J'tar gasped and the vision went away. His heart rate didn't slow down at all. Perhaps too little sleep. Maybe his lycanthropy… He never wanted to see Ganlas again.

Or maybe he was finally going mad?

—

"You all will be sharing this cabin. I suggest you make yourselves at home."

With those few words, Virk left them in the room. It was somewhat large, naturally being slaves' quarters it was made smaller than a regular shared room. "Damn you…" Maran-Dur said as soon as he was out of hearing range. "Careful, you don't want lashings." "This one will lash him."

S'rashi said nothing, immediately picking out what he deemed was the largest bed roll while the others spoke amongst themselves. He placed his war axe on it; for if you didn't claim your belongings there was a good chance it would be taken from you.

He didn't speak much. Had no quarrel with the others. They wouldn't bother him as long as he stayed out of their way. He was the newest of Virk's eight slaves. The weakest link in the chain, according to the rest. But to Virk, he was a prized possession.

Virk always gave him extra food. He told S'rashi to grow stronger so he could kill more efficiently. S'rashi liked to think he was Virk's favorite, but Virk's reasoning for the encouragement said otherwise.

"Most spacious room Q'iam has seen. Alas, I feel claustrophobic."

S'rashi walked out, the whiskers on his midnight colored furred face twitching in anticipation. In the dark hallway, his blue eyes shone bright. His face was adorned with the injuries previously inflicted upon him like hunting trophies hanging on a wall.

The Khajiit boy was a warrior but had never killed people before. But it was a dark and shadowy plain in front of him, and Virk was the gatekeeper. S'rashi walked up the stairs onto the deck, and looked out over the misty waters. Solitude- and Tamriel- faded off into the distance.

He never thought he'd be anyone important, discovering new land, settling and populating it, and by the Divines, saving Tamriel… Times truly had changed. He felt longing for when he was a boy in Stros M'kai, and life was simple and adventurous, never challenging.

Life was about to become adventurous, but definitely not in a good way.

—

"Our first stop is this island right here. Kezahkan's Isle."

Of course, J'tar remembered that place from the previous voyage, the island where Kezahkan was struck down, fighting until the end. They'd named the island after him in his honor, and even planted a marker there before moving on with the ship.

They'd also named a chain of small islands near where the final battle was "Rohan's Keep", which they would go to next. They were checking to see if the islands were uninhabited or not. J'tar had volunteered to be the ground crew for both of those places.

"Perhaps we should circle for a few days until we are sure it isn't populated." "I've already thought of that. We'd likely never know since they'd be hiding in the bushes." "You've been planning this for months, haven't you?" "Years."

J'tar swore under his breath. "How'd you live with that knowledge?" Yag didn't meet his eyes. "I almost didn't. Now go… I don't know, walk around or something. Get to know your bearings." J'tar walked out because he sensed she wanted some time to herself.

He'd forgotten to ask her how many days until Kezahkan's Isle, but on his way back he ran into someone. They dropped their crates, one of which almost went overboard and was stopped narrowly by the railing. "Sorry, let me help you with those."

The man with the crates was in leather armor, a Bosmer. He had bright orange hair and a goatee. "No problem… You're only the third today…" J'tar helped him up and they gathered the crates. "I'm Archer, damn my clumsiness." "J'tar. Nice to meet you."

The Bosmer seemed skittish, and dropped several boxes while trying to pick them up. "So, what are you doing on this voyage, Archer?" "I study the Dwemer. I came to see if they arrived in the islands before us. Or perhaps they are still here…? And you?"

"I was on the last voyage. The Emperor selected me to go." Archer dropped another box. "Damn it. I was cursed by a coven in my youth. Bad luck everywhere. Hope it doesn't rub off on you." J'tar laughed. He had a feeling Archer wasn't kidding…

—

S'rashi worked away at the straw dummy, his hatchet swinging wildly. It never stuck in anything. He was too weak to do anything more powerful than light swipes. "Come on, boy, if you aren't good for combat I'll just have to feed you to the slaughterfish."

Virk leaned against the wall, talking to a few fellow mercenaries. S'rashi kept cutting at the head, hoping he would at least cut that off, but had no luck. In anger, he threw his hatchet at the figure, and it stuck in the arm. Virk didn't notice. "Pick up your hatchet and try again. You aren't leaving until you behead it."

The other Khajiit began to leave the training area, but Virk stopped them. "None of you are leaving until he manages to _defeat_ that straw dummy." They groaned and turned around. "Come on, weak link. It's made of straw." He hated being called weak link. But it was true. He was the weak link in the chain.

Maran-Dur snatched his hatchet and buried it in the head, through the bucket, and kept whacking down, violently breaking the dummy until he split it in half. The brown furred Khajiit looked S'rashi in the eye. "Weak link."

S'rashi wanted to kill him right then and now, but instead he snatched the hatchet back, ran to the nearest dummy, and with a violent war cry sliced the head clean off. He _wished_ blood would spray all over him as he turned back to Virk and Maran, breathing heavily. Someone started to say "weak link", but S'rashi angrily threw his hatchet down.

To his dismay, it didn't stick in the wooden planks.

—

J'tar watched from the side, pitying the boy. It reminded him of himself when he was first enslaved. Do' bar was so much stronger… But then again, Do' bar used a staff and had an excuse not to slice the extremities off the dummies.

J'tar drew Rohan's sword. He'd kept it with him since Rohan's death. He'd never thought he'd have to actually _use_ the weapon anymore, he'd kept it solely for honoring Rohan. He felt the weight in his hands. He was odd with blades, using one handed weapons with both hands. He twirled around and slashed the dummy's wooden throat, and the head leaned back. J'tar gave it a solid whack and it fell off.

He noticed the boy was watching him. Might as well show off… J'tar went to another one and stabbed it through the head, piercing the burlap sack. J'tar yanked it up through the top of the head, splitting the head of the dummy clean in two.

"Now this is a man who knows how to fight!" The Nord leaning on the wall said. "Take note. It reminds me of a time I was in…" J'tar tuned him out and continued hacking through the dummies, occasionally kicking the wooden poles holding them up so hard they splintered and fell right on the spot. It felt good to be back…

—

J'tar watched the waves beat upon the ship from the deck. He'd used to be scared of the ocean, but now, having been on a voyage, he wasn't as scared as he used to be. However, he still couldn't swim and was deathly afraid of the deep. Shallow water was fine, but he couldn't fathom how small he was compared to the unknown.

Do' bar walked over. "Let's go to the tavern. Drinks on me." "They are _free,_ you know?" "That bastards started charging after the Nords almost drank half of it." J'tar couldn't help but smile. He was a non-alcoholic, but he hadn't seen Do' bar in so many years.

The two Khajiit entered the room, which was made to look like a tavern from back in Tamriel. Although everyone was too drunk to notice. Do' bar put a few septims on the counter and grabbed two bottles of Nord mead. "Drink up, you've got a long voyage ahead, J'tar."

J'tar stared at the golden tinted bottle. "I'd rather not." "Come on." "I have never drunk and I do not plan on doing so." It was quite tempting. "Just a sip, then?" J'tar succumbed with a heavy sigh. "Very well. Have it your way…"

J'tar began to take a sip when the Nord man from the test range walked over and clapped him on the back. "You all see this man? This man…" He hiccupped, clearly drunk. "This man is the best damn fighter I've ever seen… I'd have him by my"-

J'tar's tail brushed the man's legs. "What in the… You aren't a man! You're a cat!" J'tar had been training under his cloak, with the hood up. He was in the back row of the dummies, so most of his body was obscured by the straw and wooden figures.

J'tar recognized him from the previous voyage. Shoulder length black hair. Scarred heavily. Dark blue eyes. "Your name is Virk, right? I think I remember you." Virk took a swig from his tankard. "That's right. Best damn mercenary Tamriel has ever seen…"

He snatched J'tar's bottle. "Save that for the Nords…. To think I believed you were one of us…" J'tar snatched the bottle back, and took a deep swig. Part of him wanted to prove he was just as skilled as a Nord to Virk. The other part of him wanted another taste of the honeylike liquid.

"I don't need to be a Nord to send you to Sovngarde…. Bastard…" Do' bar sighed. "You really haven't drank before, have you…?" Virk took his sword off his back, and for a moment, J'tar thought he would be struck down, but Virk threw it to a nearby slave. "I'll let you use your weapon, cat."

J'tar set Rohan's blade on his table. "I'd love to cut you down, but I'd taint the sword with your Nord blood." Virk and J'tar walked to the center of the tavern. Just like that, J'tar had gotten himself into a fight… The fire pit illuminated the right side of his face, making his eyepatch visible and casting the other side pitch black, the tapetum in his eye glowing bright blue.

"Make the first move, cat. I"- J'tar punched him in the nose before he could finish. He followed up with a left hook and then a right uppercut. Virk barely took any damage, and grabbed J'tar's hand on the next attack. He wrenched it to one side, bending it so J'tar's wrist was facing up, and he felt a pop.

J'tar grittier his teeth to keep from howling in pain, and looked just in time to see Virk's fist smash into his face. J'tar staggered back, feeling numb and already battered enough to give up. He pushed himself. One punch wasn't going to take him out.

Virk swung once more, but this time J'tar could counter. He swatted the large hand away and socked Virk, relentlessly battering him like a fighter against a dummy. The longer he punched, the more time Virk would be incapacitated. Eventually Virk held his hands up to his face, but J'tar kicked him in the gut.

Virk doubled over and as J'tar was going to knee him in the face, Virk suddenly picked him up and slammed him right on the wooden floor, barely missing the fire pit with a wild growl. J'tar gasped for air as it was wrenched from his lungs. Virk turned around and raised an arm in victory to the crowd.

He didn't see J'tar stagger up.

J'tar could've snapped his neck right there, but he'd settle for beating him up. The smaller Khajiit kicked the back of Virk's leg, bringing him to one knee, and punched him twice on the right side of his head. Virk spun around, but before he could do anything J'tar kneed him in the face, busting his nose.

A bloody grin formed on the Khajiit's face as Virk struggled to stand. The Nord wasn't playing around anymore, a dark and angry look on his face. Nord had short tempers. Especially when they weren't sober. J'tar could use that… As Virk swung, J'tar effortlessly dodged the heavy drunken strikes. Like a knife against a warhammer. He didn't counter as to enrage Virk even further.

J'tar wanted to show his dominance. He finally connected an uppercut to Virk's chin and followed it up with a quick jab. Virk reared back and howled, running forward. An attack like that could kill someone small like him, but he was more… It was at that moment J'tar saw a long lost face in the crowd.

Limolithiit. Black fur with gray accents. His eyes were blue, unlike the warrior J'tar was reminded of. He looked all too much like Kezahkan.

J'tar shut down.

Virk's steel gauntlet connected with his skull, and J'tar's vision faded as he fell backwards onto the wooden floor. Even as he hit the ground, it still felt as if he was falling.

—

 **So that's now two familiar faces J'tar has seen!**

 **The one at the end of this chapter will be in the next chapter, but the one we saw at the end of chapter 1 won't come in for a while.**

 **Huge twists on both of them. You guys are gonna never expect it…**

 **Well,** _ **maybe**_ **you'll figure out the one at the end of this chapter's backstory.**

 **I'm planning on starting to introduce the reader OC's, of which I have 4 now, in the next chapter.**

 **Two of them were from The Exterior but didn't make it in.**

 **As I'm updating this tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'm not sure if my Canada or UK readers celebrate that…?**

 **Basically you pig out on a feast n' stuff. Classic American holiday.**

 **Not very flattering for my country :T**

 **I was going to have J'tar do this really badass backflip kick on Virk but I thought that was too ridiculous.**

 **If you want to see the original move, go to YouTube, type in Cyrax and Sektor Manichima, go to 2:56, and watch Sektor (the red robot).**

 **Once you see it you'll see why I didn't put it in. J'tar isn't the type of dude to do that stuff. If I saw that in real life I would probably never open my eyes again because nothing else would be more badass than that.**

 **Lol.**

 **The OC Form**

 **Name:**

 **Race:**

 **Gender:**

 **Age:**

 **Role on the ship:**

 **Appearance:**

 **Weapons:**

 **Optional**

 **-—-—-—**

 **History:**

 **Skills:**

 **Weaknesses:**

 **Abilities:**

 **Faction:**

 **Personality:**

 **Other:**


	3. Chapter 3

**Back with another chapter!**

 **I've discovered that even after I deal with Microsoft's autocorrect F – A – N – F – I – C – T – I – O – N dot net has its own autocorrect. Which is worse than Microsoft's because you can't detect it.**

 **I'll be going back and making minor edits every once in a while. Now if the above portion is weird looking (EX: N dot net has its own autocorrect) that is a prime example of autocorrect.**

 **Why is it even there? Is there a problem entering the name of a website? Idk how many times I've typed it! And when you type the name of a website in PM it gives you the URL?**

 **I know it's not that big of a deal but your speech is all weird and you sound… Well, weird. Annoys the f out of me…**

 **So just so you know if there's an odd thing like that it's the site, not me.**

 **If you didn't know already you can PM me reader OC's.**

 **I'd probably feel more comfortable doing that myself, I'd probably worry my OC would be judged.**

 **As long as it isn't Mary Sure bullcrap and your some Daedra from the future with dragonbone pistols and is also the Dragonborn you'll be fine.**

 **I got a bunch of those in my MK stories. I'm glad you guys aren't like that.**

 **I haven't written MK in so long now but I'm going to bring Kombat Academy back once it's Christmas. For all of y'all who read all my stuff.**

 **So I just got done watching two videos about how to win the Hunger Games. Hopefully that stuff never happens because then I'd break my ankle running off the starting platforms.**

 **Speaking of the Hunger Games, if you are bored and have like 2 hours on your hands to set everything up I recommend BrantSteele Hunger Games simulator.**

 **It's really anticlimactic at the end. Just "Oh, random guy who you didn't pull for is the winner!" For some reason I keep going back to it though…**

 **I put my dog in and they got killed by Donald Trump. I kid you not.**

 **Never thought I'd be typing that.**

 **Enough weirdness. On with the chapter!**

—

"I can't believe you're drunk so easily."

J'tar's cheeks flushed red under his fur and he muttered to himself. Yag's voice could barely contain her laughter. "Don't you Khajiits drink skooma?" The Khajiit said nothing. "I would've expected this from anyone but you." "When did you turn into my mother?" "Do not stray from the path this one has taught you, little cub." J'tar cracked a smile. It was good to have Yag back.

—

"Captain punish you hard?" "Hardly. Her mood has improved a lot since I last saw her. She was always strict back then." Archer and J'tar leaned on the railing. "You ever get scared of the deep sea?" "I'm still not over it." J'tar's one good eye gazed into the depths. "So do I. The only reason I came on this voyage was for the money." "That might not be very useful outside Tamriel." "Well, someone's got to start up the economy, am I right?"

J'tar saw it just as the man in the crow's nest did. His vision had been sharpened in his left eye since his right had been rendered useless. And that only added to his Khajiit vision. The island looked just as it did when he last laid eyes on it. The sands had a light pallor until it became wet, in which it turned brown. Palms swayed freely, perhaps mourning the death of the hero that lay there. And the odd purple rock that somehow reminded him of Kezahkan was still scattered about the coast.

The signal for land echoed throughout the ship, and the crew assembled on the deck where J'tar already was, between the captain's cabin and the bridge. Yag strolled up with pride, her prized orcish greatsword on her back.

"Alright, for those of you unfamiliar with our choosing methods, those eligible to fight have their names in a helmet," She said, grabbing an overturned guard helmet from atop a barrel.

"We choose at random. However, you may volunteer for the ground crew. We will draw two names since this island is likely not a threat, but those who wish to pay respects to Kezahkan may go."

J'tar and some of the old crew formed a ground to Yag's left. J'tar saw so many old friends there, but his attention was not parted from Kezahkan's Isle. Its solemn gaze did not part from him either.

—

S'rashi actually volunteered on this one. Might as well have a look, it likely wasn't inhabited. And if it was, the Khajiit who put up a good fight against Virk was here. Virk himself was sulking in the back of the crowd with a black eye. Luckily for the fighter, Khajiit fur hid most wounds. S'rashi knew from experience.

S'rashi had never been in the sea before. In a rowboat, yes. He was raised not in Elsewyr, but Valenwood. Archery was his niche, but of course Virk would have none of that. There weren't many Khajiit on this voyage that weren't servants or slaves or just doing the grunt work. He was glad to actually go somewhere for once.

There were warriors of all sorts on the small boat. An Orc woman with an orcish greatsword in light steel armor. A Lilmothiit with two small warhammers on his back. A Khajiit with a bandolier of throwing knives on his chest. Perhaps he would have his place amongst them one day.

They were relatively close to shore already, so the boat ran aground quickly. S'rashi made sure to show initiative, be the first one to get out. The rest calmly set foot on the sand like it was any other day. They knew exactly where to go. S'rashi followed them, intrigued by who Kezahkan was and why he was killed.

Some split off away from the path and into the wild, hoping to find new species or maybe try and communicate with the natives. S'rashi touched his iron axe at his side, just to make sure it was there. The rough rocky blade would do him no good if it kept falling out of his sheath. One time the blade fell off the handle. It was very cheap.

—

J'tar saw the marker in the distance. He'd retraced the steps he'd run with Kezahkan. The steps they'd taken while hopelessly running to their deaths. The steps that had been Kezahkan's last. J'tar saw an arrow sticking out of the ground. He angrily smashed it.

 _After a while of running, they stopped to catch their breath._

" _I think we lost them."_

 _J'tar nodded in agreement, too tired to speak. Kezahkan and J'tar had been separated from the group since no one else came to help him. He removed the arrow from his shoulder, wincing as he did so. "Damn… We need to find everyone else." They continued on, J'tar's shoulder still bleeding. They had no bandages without Sajorn. J'tar began to hear voices as they went on the path. Perhaps it was their allies?_

The details flooded into his mind like blood out of a wound, seeping into his consciousness until he could see it through his eyes. He eyes on _that_ day. They were at the rock where they'd taken cover. The rock where they'd tried to make their last stand.

" _Pierric… That's"-_

" _Shhhh….."_

 _J'tar began to panic. He touched the scar he'd gotten almost a month ago. It was jagged and deep, like a canyon. What if that happened to the other eye? Half of him wanted to fight Pierric. But what about the pyramid? If J'tar could get his hands on it… "Hurry up and find them... I want to get back to Tamriel, and get my pay…" Pierric's voice drained J'tar's hope._

Yes, that voice. He could still hear it now. A ghostly remnant of that day forever etched on the flesh of this unholy place like a deep scar. The arrows became more numerous as J'tar led the group into the clearing where Pierric had taken on the form of a wolf.

 _He peeked around the rock once more._

 _It was a clearing, surrounded by pine trees, and had a large rock on which Pierric perched._

 _He was the only one looking official, as usual. And his sword was absent. He had only the pyramid. It wouldn't be a problem, as long as J'tar had his ranged weapon. He put a hand on his back to find his bow was absent. "No… Gods no, not now…" "Hey! What's that behind the rock?" Kezahkan shut his eyes and concentrated for a moment. "Twenty in all." "How can you tell?" "I can hear their footsteps."_

J'tar willed it to stop. Begged it. Threatened it. But who was there to threaten… But himself?

 _They slammed into the ground. J'tar got up, because he was used to falling around places as a youth. Evidently, so was Pierric. All that mattered was the pyramid._

J'tar's breathing was quick. He was beginning to hyperventilate. Why was it coming back? Why, when he'd prayed so many times to make it stop?

 _His hands closed around it. It felt warm. Safe. Solid._

The world faded to gray and J'tar saw through his eyes five years previous. He clutched the pyramid, wandering what to do.

 _Kezahkan grabbed J'tar by the arm and pulled him into the forest. The reinforcements were already on the way, but Kezahkan and J'tar took them by surprise, running right past them down a slope. Kezahkan even flipped over one at one point. It was then the arrow hit Kezahkan in the back._

J'tar drew his sword and swung at everything, trying to kill the memories. He swung at Pierric. At the trees. At the falling arrows. At anyone. At Kezahkan.

 _He cried out in pain and pushed J'tar away, back into the woods. As the grays caught up, he drew his swords. J'tar ran to join in, but two of them grabbed his arms and tripped him, so that he was on his knees with his arms being tied behind him. "Watch him die, you bastard." J'tar struggled as Kezahkan killed them one after another, mowing them down even with the arrow in his back. Then the next arrow hit. In his shoulder._

J'tar felt his captors holding him down. He thrashed. Bit them. Even tried turning into a werewolf. But it all wasn't real. He tried to convince himself of this. But the taste of blood said otherwise.

J'tar stood up and tried to run to help, but was kicked back down.

Kezahkan still fought with valor, but his swings were more tired and weaker.

 _It was then Pierric shot an arrow. It hit Kezahkan in the chest. "He's a dead man fighting! Hurry up and kill him!" J'tar remembered his pyramid, still in his hands. "Please do something. Anything!" He begged the object._

J'tar was on the verge of tears, thrashing wildly like a rabid wolf. That's what he was. A wolf in a bear trap. But the wolf in the trap would chew his leg off.

Kezahkan was still killing most of the men, and about half of them were dead, even when they attacked all at once.

 _J'tar's bindings were shot by the pyramid just as Kezahkan was stabbed by Pierric. "A reminder…" He looked right at J'tar. "Even the strongest cannot overcome the eternal power of the Stonedragon Chiliad."_

J'tar broke free and picked up Kezahkan's swords, stabbing Pierric over and over until the blood ran as thick as Kezahkan's, but even that didn't satisfy him.

Everything reversed. He was back in the arms of his captors. Pierric had his bow at the ready. J'tar broke free once more and dove in front of Kezahkan, the arrow ripping into his chest…

He was back in the present, kneeling at Kezahkan's marker. His grave. His tomb. Eternal resting place. In front of the warrior J'tar could never be. Someone kneeled down beside him. He looked right at Kezahkan. Right into the same fur, the same Lilmothiit fur. The only thing different was the eyes. These were the eyes that distracted him last night.

"I've been wanting to meet you for a while now. Never could catch up to you."

J'tar was silent.

"You were close, no? I heard about you from the others. They say you fought beside him when he died."

J'tar didn't have any more bloody visions.

"My name is Sandrin. I am Kezahkan's son."

Yes, J'tar could see the resemblance.

"J'tar," He managed, taking the hand and shaking it, standing back up. The Lilmothiit had two smaller daedric warhammers on his back. His arm was heavily scarred, the fur emaciated. Like Kezahkan after the fight.

 _He knelt beside Kezahkan._

 _As he took the bandages from his belt, Kezahkan stopped him._

" _It's too late for me…"_

 _J'tar kept going, and bandaged him. He couldn't accept this._

 _Kezahkan began to chuckle, but then coughed, blood spraying up._

" _Don't waste it on me."_

" _You aren't dying on my watch…"_

" _J'tar."_

" _No!"_

" _J'tar…"_

 _Kezahkan's eyes clouded._

" _I'll see you in Aetherious… My friend…"_

 _J'tar's eyes widened._

" _Kezahkan?"_

 _He shook his friend._

" _He's gone."_

 _His comrades stood behind him in silence._

 _J'tar filled with hate._

" _I'm going to kill that bastard Pierric."_

 _He closed Kezahkan's eyes, and Sajorn draped a cloth over him._

 _Serrgius lifted him up, and they carried him back to the ship._

 _All was quiet._

—

 **That was so powerful I almost didn't leave an author's note.**

 **This was a bit late. Let me give you the run down on what happened.**

 **Khajiit: Ha! 1800 words in! Over halfway done!**

 **Surface Tablet: Huehuehuehue… Ima sabotage you…**

 **Khajiit: Wait wut**

 **Surface Tablet: Don worry bout it.**

 **Khajiit: But you s-**

 **Surface Tablet: Dun worry bout it…**

 **~a few minutes later~**

 **Surface Tablet: Aii word?**

 **Microsoft Office Word 2013: Can I help you?**

 **Surface Tablet: I need you to crash.**

 **Microsoft Office Word 2013: Wat? No!**

 **Surface Tablet: Yu have no loyalties, traitor…**

 **Microsoft Office Word 2013: Nuuuuuuuu!**

 ***typing noises go silent***

 **Khajiit: Nuuu… You can't do dis to me… *typing random letters to delay crash***

 **Khajiit: Err…. Fuq it clutch *presses save button then goes back to start screen***

 ***freezes then shuts off***

 **Khajiit: NUUUUUUUUUU**

 **I seriously need to consider getting a new surface or maybe a laptop. This one's about to be four years old.**

 **The OC Form**

 **Name:**

 **Race:**

 **Gender:**

 **Age:**

 **Role on the ship:**

 **Appearance:**

 **Weapons:**

 **Optional**

 **-—-—-—**

 **History:**

 **Skills:**

 **Weaknesses:**

 **Abilities:**

 **Faction:**

 **Personality:**

 **Other:**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sup?**

 **I have this terrible head cold.**

 **My parents were all like: "You're too sick to go outside but you aren't too sick to go to school!"**

 **O_o Srsly?**

 **I get throat sick every year and I** _ **have**_ **to have a random coughing fit EVERY FREAKING TIME.**

 **Plus I have mild asthma so that doesn't help with nose congestion.**

 **I took a single Kleenex to school today because I thought my nose wouldn't run much.**

 **It wadded up my pocket, and I kept on having to take it out of my pocket to get my phone then put it back in.**

 **Eventually I just threw it away, and RIGHT FREAKING THEN my nose started running.**

 **Y u hate me, life? ;(**

 **I really want to complain about the new MKX dlc but this is Elder Scrolls…**

 **I haven't posted for MK in months. I go through weird phases where I'm addicted to writing ES then MK and it switches all the time.**

 **And I haven't played any Elder Scrolls games in months, so wtf?**

 **I already saw people outside the local cinema camping for the new Star Wars movie.**

 **I hope they realize it's on the 18** **th** **or so.**

 **I mean, I'm definitely going to see it the day it comes out but as I'm writing this it's only the 7** **th** **!**

 **I hope it doesn't bomb like the first trilogy. (Not the original trilogy)**

 **Disney… You're cool and all but I'll never forget when I was browsing YouTube and I thought I was going to see an ad for Battlefront but then Disney Infinity came up.**

 **I suppose while I'm here I might as well say Sandrin, Do'kharza, Ulfric, Molan, Torriath, Serrgius, Serah, Wolvia, and Sadira are all OC's, and do not belong to me.**

 **That being said, I take credit for J'tar, S'rashi, Yag, Archer, Virk, Do' bar, Hira-Tzai, and Walks-**

 **Wait. Nope. Walks Red isn't canon. Go away**

 **Walks Red: YOU CAN NEVER BE RID OF-**

 **Khajiit: BEGONE, FOUL DEMON!**

 **I got a PM asking where Walks Red was after the middle of The Exterior. Might as well address all of you.**

 **I messed up with her, if you remember correctly she was to be J'tar's Argonian love interest, but I totally forgot about her.**

 **Or maybe I was just trying to hide from how badly I derped when I wrote that romance scene ._.**

 **PLS DON'T READ IT ;_;**

—

S'rashi sprinted through the jungle, breathing heavily. Was this how he would die? His first thought was that the beast would go after the group, but what if there was more than one of them? What if he was running straight for the second one? The others were experienced warriors who could fight it off as a group.

S'rashi was rotten human flesh thrown to a starving wolf.

He continued running, his iron war axe shaking and making loud noises at his side. S'rashi tripped… And faced the behemoth. It walked on two legs, twice as big as a sabretooth, and had tusks twice as sharp. It was smaller than a mammoth, and didn't have fur, but blue skin with a blue mane.

As his worst fears were realized, it roared.

S'rashi got up and ran back the way he came, towards the others, and towards the ship. He knew he wouldn't be quick enough to outrun it. He turned around and skidded on the dirt, the creature attempting to turn around as well, but then falling on its side.

He continued sprinting at top speed, faster than he'd ever gone before. He was dying on his own terms, not the Divines.

Where were the others? He'd lost track! But then again, it was hard to remember whilst getting chased through unfamiliar terrain. He hears the thunderous footsteps behind him, but didn't stop to acknowledge the unholy entity.

Desperate to put distance between himself and the beast, S'rashi turned around briefly and threw his hatchet, the handle striking the beastly blue had instead of the blade. A mere annoyance.

Where were the others? Surely they were done dealing with whatever it was that attacked them! Didn't they hear S'rashi's-

But suddenly, he was tackled from his front, and when he struggled, pinned down. His unseen attacker shifted off of him and lay beside him, pinning down S'rashi with a single arm to keep him still. They'd be trampled!

But the beast went right over them, continuing to run in confusion. It didn't comprehend their trickery. S'rashi's defender stood, a Khajiit boy looking around the same age as himself, with brown fur and a muscular build.

The beast gradually realized his error and turned to the prey, only to receive a throwing knife between the eyes. It continued to run, then began to get sluggish, then finally reaching the prey, collapsed, blood pooling underneath it.

"Thank you, friend." "I am not your friend." The Khajiit helped S'rashi up. "You ran away!" "I am not as strong"- "That is no excuse!" The Khajiit drew another knife, and S'rashi thought he would be stabbed, but he pushed S'rashi away with one hand and threw it into another beast.

"Come with me." S'rashi followed the Khajiit without hesitation, wanting to get away from the jungle. The sooner they could get off the island, the better. The brown furred Khajiit was much faster but he was able to keep up.

—

He gasped for air, a small noise against the sounds of brutal combat.

J'tar got up. He'd been rammed. He was terribly dizzy… He raised his sword to strike on the beast, but this time successfully stabbed it. These things hadn't been here last time they'd been on Kezahkan's Isle. Who'd put them there? And why?

"Come on, J'tar! We're leaving!"

J'tar did a quick check of everyone there. There were fourteen, but they'd started with sixteen. There were two not present… The black furred Khajiit and Do'kharza. He wasn't going to leave anyone behind. Especially not here.

J'tar charged through the trees, sheathing Rohan's sword. There was no sign of anyone. How had everything gone wrong so quickly…? J'tar hurriedly checked the mud for footprints, but then heard a rustling noise amongst the vines.

He ran towards it, determined not to lose anyone that day. Vines slapped him in the face, he tripped over roots, but J'tar was determined not to lose any more people on Kezahkan's Isle.

J'tar barreled into a giant blue creature. He sprawled back and fell down. It slowly and dumbly turned its neck to the right, to its prey. J'tar threw a rock at it and ran, jumping over roots and making quick turns, hoping to confuse the behemoth.

He reached the shores. Most everyone was on the ship or climbing on, but some had waited for him on the beach, Sandrin and Do'kharza among them. Do'kharza threw a knife, and J'tar dove, getting a mouthful of sand.

The beast roared as the knife plunged into his chest, and swiped at J'tar. The Khajiit slashed at the creature, and his sword was shattered. J'tar ran at a full sprint, using up the last of his energy.

He slammed into the side of the boat, gasping for air, and then groggily made his way up. He was pulled up from the ladder. Where had that last burst of stamina come from? He'd be dead without it… No matter, he thought. Everyone was aboard. No one had died here.

But as the ship left Kezahkan's Isle behind, he saw the obelisk shaped marker crushed by the beasts.

—

J'tar handed Ulfric the broken sword, trusting he'd handle it with care. After all, he'd been on the last voyage and knew who Rohan was.

The blacksmith put it into a mold, liquefying the silver and pouring in molten metal until he'd filled it to the brim. J'tar remembered his childhood dream of being a blacksmith. Heh. Look how that'd all turned out for him…

"I heard about that little fight you got into with Virk. Did you get chewed out by Yag?"

"She questioned me a bit, then let me go. She's changed quite a lot from since I last saw her. Almost if a weight has been removed from her shoulders."

Confessing to being a werewolf, perhaps.

"You know, I've been sweet on her for a while."

"You have a thing for Orc women?"

"Yes. I grew up in Markarth. Plenty of Orc girls there. I remember all the Nord girls would swoon over me when I was eyeing the Orcs."

"Reminds me of my brother. He had a thing for Argon"-

 _The young Khajiit breathed a sigh of relief, but then out of the corner of his eye, saw a prisoner staring at him. He looked towards the one so intently fixed on him only to reel back in surprise. He'd seen that face so many times before. The Khajiit boy who had been his best friend. Who he'd grown up with. The one who taught him how to fight. How to survive. The one who he promised he'd come back for._

 _An empty promise._

"I'm sorry, I ah… I need to go now. When will the repairs be done?"

"About two hours, give or take. Are you alright?"

"Fine."

J'tar walked back to his cabin, completely silent. A memory ripped from his head that he'd buried so deeply he'd almost forgotten it. He avoided speaking about it most of the time, but he'd never forget seeing Hira-Tzai's face. Maybe it wasn't even him. But who would forget the face of their best friend?

"He's alive," J'tar said to himself. "You can't deny that."

But what if he'd perished while making his escape? No… Hira wouldn't die from something like _that_. And the worst fact facing J'tar was… Hira was on the Stonedragon side… The side that tried to kill them… What if he was still out there? If the Stonedragons were reforming? What would happen if-

"J'tar!"

Now J'tar remembered who his best friend was. Do' bar walked through the open door. "Looks just like the last cabin. I thought you might want to go grab a drink or two, little brother." J'tar gave a halfhearted laugh. "I'm never drinking again after what happened the other night." "I want a repeat of that. It was funny. What are you doing moping around on a night like this?"

"Remembering good times." And he was.

"Just like J'tar…" Do' bar said, leaving the cabin. Good for him. He didn't have a ghost to haunt his dreams every night he went to sleep…

J'tar remembered his childhood. Hira-Tzai. How much he looked like his mother. Both of them had snowy white fur. J'tar was the black sheep, with gray fur and black tiger-like stripes. No one knew who J'tar's father was, but Hira's father was the one he called his parent. Hira was his half-brother.

He remembered the look on Hira's face when he'd left him behind in prison. Not like he'd had a choice. Ganlas had him in shackles, and he was expected to sprint Hira then? No matter. Remembering that day when they'd beat back the Stonedragons, it looked as if Hira had somehow escaped.

Weasel…

—

 **Yeah, this chapter's a tad shorter.**

 **I didn't want to devote a bunch of sentences to Hira-Tzai and then just cut to S'rashi.**

 **That's bad storytelling.**

 **Now while I'm still here, OC death… It's a big deal!**

 **I want you all to know I will not be making an Exterior III, but I've been thinking about a prequel.**

 **After this story, OC's will be done with!**

 **Jeez, I sound brutal…**

 **I won't force you, if you make the OC it's your decision.**

 **But PM me exclusively. Only PM. No spoilers in the comments.**

 **There doesn't have to be a specific way you die, if you just want to die that's cool.**

 **I sound so morbid.**

 **If you haven't noticed, the name of this fanfic has changed, as well as the description.**

 **I think I messed up on the latter, having given no information whatsoever on J'tar or S'rashi.**

 **I actually don't know if our two protagonists are ever going to meet!**

 **The OC form**

 **Name:**

 **Race:**

 **Gender:**

 **Age:**

 **Role on the ship:**

 **Appearance:**

 **Weapons:**

 **Optional**

 **-—-—-—**

 **History:**

 **Skills:**

 **Weaknesses:**

 **Abilities:**

 **Faction:**

 **Personality:**

 **Other:**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm back!**

 **So, Christmas break…**

 **Long overdue.**

 **I think my raccoon eyes are finally starting to go away.**

 **I'm going to spend a good portion of it writing, so you guys can expect more content!**

 **Also, I have a new idea for a story!**

 **I won't be working on four stories at once again, I'll release this later.**

 **This story is going to replace Isle Repentance since it uses most of the characters from Isle Repentance in it.**

 **These don't actually take place in the same world. It's not a prequel or anything.**

 **I will be resuming Isle Repentance later on, just like I said.**

 **I keep promises. Most of the time ;).**

 **It's about Caspar (the same main character's name from Isle Repentance) but instead of being a High Elf, he's half High Elf and half Breton. He's also younger, sixteen or so.**

 **It takes place immediately after Skyrim. The Stormcloaks have won the war, and they're attempting to purge the lands of Imperials and High Elves.**

 **Caspar lives at the College because his sister is an apprentice there and she is his only relative of age, but he is terrible at magic.**

 **His sister, unbeknownst to him, works with the Thalmor and needs Caspar to send an important message that could save Skyrim to General Tullius, before he is executed.**

 **That's basically the plot. Or at least what happens at the beginning.**

 **Tell me what you think by PM or review, should I finish up Isle Repentance first or do this? I keep putting off Isle Repentance, but if I do finish it soon, I'll release all of the rest of the chapters at once.**

—

S'rashi leaned against the railing, watching the small islands go by. They were everywhere surrounding them, but as big as sandbars, some of which had one palm tree. Definitely not big enough to build a colony. He wondered if there was any lands big enough. Maybe this was a fool's errand. Then again, they could all just live on the boat.

Yesterday had been quite… Eventful.

He'd lost his axe. Been chased by a few monsters. A grave marker had been destroyed. Typical day…

Never knew what to expect on this voyage. He'd seen people he'd never seen the likes of before. Dawnguard, sellswords, ex-bandits, mages, necromancers, you name it, it was somewhere on the boat. Made him feel somewhat safe and somewhat scared. A bittersweet feeling… What if there was a mutiny? What if there was a fight or something? That wouldn't exactly end up good for the passengers...

"C'mon, boy. I've got something for you to do."

Virk. The tone, voice, sharpness, disregard… He knew it quite well. A little too well.

He was led down into the bowels of the ship, somewhere he hadn't been before. Down here it was quiet. Dark. Like the back roads of Elden Root. Those were the shady streets. Always good to avoid those. This section of this ship would naturally be more shady. No windows. Just candles on the occasional table. The dripping of wax onto a table. Flicker of a fire in the void.

"In here."

Virk veered off to the left and entered a large circular room, the edges of which were elevated with a pit in the middle. In the pit, two Nords battered one another, grappling like bears and swatting like sabertooths.

Eventually the bigger one threw the smaller prey to the side and kicked him to finish him off. The smaller one was dragged off, and went in through a doorway, a little trail of bloodstained straw left in his wake. S'rashi shivered. Virk turned his attention to him.

"I want you to show initiative. Make the first move. I believe you can do this, S'rashi. You have potential but don't use it." "W-what do you mean, master?" Virk couldn't contain a grin. "You're going to fight one of your fellow slaves."

—

 _Weak link._

 _Weak link._

 _Weak link._

Strong link, he told himself, but it didn't convince him. Things like that never worked. Who was he fighting? He could take Azum or Mi'hai, but Li'kan or Maran-Dur? Or anyone else? Nothing. He was done. Especially with Q'iam. If Q'iam fought him, he might as well…

He didn't even want to think about it…

The door lifted, and he walked out. From the interior of the arena, the surrounding area looked surprisingly small. He got his bearings. Yes. He could fight in here. Show initiative. Make the first move. He watched as the door opened, and a gray furred Khajiit he knew and feared more than Virk walked out.

Q'iam. Show initiative. Make the first move. Don't die in the first minute.

—

J'tar covered the holes with his fingers and blew.

The sound hurt his ears, blasting his sensitive Khajiit hearing. Wincing, he set the flute down lightly on Yag's table and looked around, taking in the spacious red room Yag called home.

There were swords and shields hanging on the walls, animal heads, a _draugr_ head, which made J'tar jump, model ships, model dragons, and a painting of what J'tar assumed was Yag's hometown in Hammerfell. His kind of room, definitely.

He sat down in a chair. Yag had summoned him, but she hadn't been here when he arrived.

She said it was urgent, but she was always tied up with something, it seemed. He remembered what Ulfric said. Maybe he could get them together, free her a little time?

—

"Fight!"

"Show initiative. Make the first move."

S'rashi threw a heavy punch at the bigger man, putting all of his meager weight into one strike…

Q'iam caught his fist, waited for a moment to build suspense, pulled back his right fist, his _good_ arm, and struck. S'rashi quickly ducked under, getting one good strike in on the stomach, then brutally kneeing Q'iam while he was bent over.

Despite his best efforts, Q'iam appeared only angrier, not hurting. He charged in, knowing full and well he would hit S'rashi. And he did. It was as if a dragon soared at S'rashi at top speed, and crashed right into him. S'rashi was hit, picked up, while Q'iam hadn't stopped for a single moment, and slammed into the wall.

He gasped for air but was rammed once more, taking the wind from him.

Q'iam still had him wrapped in a hold, and picked him up, slamming him into the ground this time. The crowd cheered wildly, save for Virk.

Q'iam appealed to them, raising one arm in victory, making them cheer even louder. S'rashi struggled to stand. He was in a position with his knees on the ground and his hands holding him up. He would attack Q'iam from behind. The bigger Khajiit gave no indication of turning around.

Like the roaring storms of coastal Elsewyr, Q'iam snapped and in a split second turned around and kicked him right in the stomach, like lightning, wood cracking, an explosion. His long legs were his greatest asset. S'rashi was lifted up by the force a little, then rolled to the edge of the arena, hitting the wall.

Why…

He couldn't move…

Why was this happening to him?

—-—

Yag pulled up a chair and sat across from him.

"I need you to answer me honestly, J'tar."

"Of course, captain."

"Have you been having any werewolf problems?"

He hesitated before giving her his answer. He knew he could trust her, that was quite obvious to him. But yes or no weren't definite answers. He didn't know if he had been turning. Perhaps it was in his sleep. And he didn't know if he hadn't been turning. None of his belongings were destroyed. His walls weren't in shambles. His bedcurtains weren't tattered.

"No, I believe not."

She took off the glove that concealed her bite. Oddly, her bitten finger was a healthy shade of green, and the stub wasn't mangled with scar tissue.

"I had mine cured in Valenwood by a mage there. Unfortunately it took a year of visiting, which is time you don't have. I know you can handle yourself just fine, but be careful."

J'tar pulled back the sleeve of his cloak. The scar tissue there was jagged like a lightning bolt, a barren patch where he'd once had a black stripe running through, but now it ran into a wasteland of bare skin. His left arm's fur was mangled. And he'd been noticing his pupils were slightly… Thinner than usual.

—

S'rashi staggered around, waiting for the next strike to come. This one, if not killing him, would probably leave him destitute or concussed at the very least. He couldn't die at nineteen… Surely the divines had more plans for him… He wasn't one of those people made to fill up space, was he?

Q'iam pushed him lightly, but it was enough to send S'rashi staggering backwards.

The crowd laughed. Virk looked stern. His voice echoed in his head. Show initiative. Make the first move. He'd done all of that! Why wasn't Virk stopping this? Would it be until he was dead? Did Virk have no use for him anymore?

Q'iam wouldn't expect claws… Or maybe a bite… But S'rashi knew about his weakness. He had a white patch on his forehead where the skull had been severely fractured. If he could exploit that… He'd already slammed his knee into it. One more knee and Q'iam would be…

Dead? Did he really want to kill Q'iam?

—

"If you ever feel like it, we can put you in the brig."

He remembered the brig. He'd last been in it when Azi was caught stealing food from the kitchens and he was sent in by Ganlas. He couldn't remember why, but they ended up cellmates for the day.

Smelled of animals and blood. Disgusting. Straw got between your toes when you walked around, and the bench that hang from the wall by chains was made from rotten wood, and easily collapsed under the lightest weight. He never wanted to spend a night there again.

"No thank you, I have everything under control."

"Alright, but if you ever have any problems, just talk to either me or Molan-Ei."

J'tar left. Perhaps not being a werewolf anymore had lightened Yag's mood? She'd never spoken of her feral blood before.

His own blood granted him a stamina boost. Perhaps that was what it was yesterday, when he ran so quickly he hit the side of the ship.

"And J'tar?"

"Yes?"

"I keep getting complaints of noises from the lower areas of the ship. Would you mind going and taking a look inside?"

"Alright. Guess I need something to keep me busy."

—

S'rashi sprang at Q'iam, catching him off guard. He smashed the skull with his fist, leaving Q'iam dazed, as if he was drugged. S'rashi capitalized and pummeled him over and over in the skull, until it seemed Q'iam became numb to the pain. He kicked Q'iam and sent him on his back.

The crowd booed. It was clear who the favorite was. They wanted blood, and Q'iam provided it. He wandered how many matches Q'iam had already been in, and how much Virk was profiting off him.

Everyone had their money on Q'iam. He would shame them.

S'rashi would give them their blood. He planted a foot on Q'iam and pushed him back down into the dirt. When Q'iam struggled, he kicked him. He was the new alpha.

"Weak link…"

S'rashi snapped. He roughly pulled Q'iam up and slammed him into the wall, grabbing him by his neck and punching him. Q'iam struggled, but to no avail as he was kneed in the gut and thrown back down into the dirt. When he stood, S'rashi speared him.

The white patch on his head became Virk, and Q'iam, and the bullies back home in Valenwood. The cheering Nords, the superior Thalmor, and everyone else he hated with the dark pit of his soul. S'rashi made a whimpering sound as he beat Q'iam, drawing blood with every strike.

The crowd grew silent.

Q'iam was flayed within a few inches of Aetherius. S'rashi pulled his arm back, ready to destroy him, and in that moment, his arm was a warhammer raised over a melon.

He threw it.

An angry hand firmly grabbed his arm.

The crowd gasped. S'rashi's blood ran cold. He looked up over his shoulder. There stood a man with a solemn look, the top of his face under the shadow of a hood, the tapetum in his green eyes shining through the darkness.

"Someone give medical help to the gray one."

He recognized this man as the one who put up a good fight against Virk not too long ago. And apparently Virk did as well, since he was seething with anger by the looks of it.

"Come with me, boy."

—

 **Got it out before Christmas! Even if it is Christmas Eve!**

 **I always keep my promises! Sometimes!**

 **I just contradicted myself.**

 **The pacing killed you, didn't it? J'tar casually talking with Yag and then S'rashi and Q'iam trying to kill each other?**

 **Not even sorry :)**

 **Apparently tapetum isn't a word in Microsoft 2013, but just so you know it's what makes animal eyes light up in the dark.**

 **I learned this whilst dissecting cow eyeballs a month back in biology. It's like being given a pair of scissors and being told to cut a baseball open.**

 **I went over to the wrong side of YouTube and stumbled across some of those alien documentaries, illuminati, that sort of jazz.**

 **If we're alone in the universe, I will hug my pillow and cry.**

 **If aliens exist, I will hug my pillow and cry.**

 **And then later I was playing Spooky's House of Jumpscares, with the TV on so I wouldn't scream like a little girl.**

 **The National Weather alert system came on and scared the living crap out of me, I screamed a profanity and my dog barked at me.**

 **I listened to the message, got used to the creepy voice, and when the regular show came back it scared the crap out of me again because it sounded like a tape fast forwarding.**

 **And then I got jumpscared. Today was quite eventful.**

 **I'm trying to make S'rashi more likeable and Virk less of a villain. It's not that I don't like Nords and High Elves since they're generally my villains.**

 **High Elves are my second favorite race, besides Orcs.**

 **Nords I have a distaste for, since they're kind of generic and are generally too mainstream. That's where my hipster comes out.**

 **But I appreciate all tastes, you can make any kind of OC you want. I don't judge.**

 **As long as it isn't Mary-Sue.**

 **So what did you guys get for Christmas? If you're reading this on the 24** **th** **(the day this is posted), what do you think you're going to get for Christmas?**

 **I liked to be surprised, so I never ask for anything.**

 **Merry Christmas, readers. Unless you're reading this in July or something.**

 **The OC form**

 **Name:**

 **Race:**

 **Gender:**

 **Age:**

 **Role on the ship:**

 **Appearance:**

 **Weapons:**

 **Optional**

 **-—-—-—**

 **History:**

 **Skills:**

 **Weaknesses:**

 **Abilities:**

 **Faction:**

 **Personality:**

 **Other:**


	6. Chapter 6

**So, as of now it is January 1** **st** **, 2016.**

 **Still on leave from prison (school :P)**

 **And our two main characters have finally met!**

 **Well, they haven't met, but they have acknowledged each other.**

 **I haven't planned a thing for this chapter but I'm going to have them meet, I know that.**

 **I'm gradually going to start reintroducing reader OC's. It does look like I have very little according to the reviews, but most of them have been PMs and carried over from The Exterior.**

 **If S'rashi says I or me, that's my mistake. In The Exterior, I got J'tar to say I and me because Ganlas taught him to, just so I wouldn't have to use Khajiit speaking. It's kind of confusing for me.**

 **Pacing is slow now, but I'll get it back to normal soon. Promise :)**

 **I reread the endings for The Exterior, and was a bit confused by them myself.**

 **They're meant to be extremely artistic, some things abstract and other aspects of them blurry.**

 **I was kind of weird in 2015**

 **Don't have much to say right now, so I'll get on with the chapter**

 **/**

 **That was the intro I was planning on using 5 months ago.**

 **As of now it is May 15** **th** **.**

 **It's been a long time.**

…

 **Yep.**

 **A bit longer than I intended.**

… **I'm not dead…? :/**

 **I had to reread most of The Exterior b/c I forgot who Ronthil was and why J'tar had a fear of lockpicking, and above all, I keep pounding into my head that the world of the Elder Scrolls has two moons.**

 **It's been rough, but you guys know how stubborn I am ;)**

 **More later in the outro.**

—

The steely cold grip was still locked upon his wrist.

One could say it wasn't really cold, but it was unfeeling. Very firm.

The man led him out of the arena, and then out of the lower areas of the ship. Where the halls were narrow, S'rashi could see the black imprint of water, waving him hello. Or perhaps goodbye. He didn't look at them again.

The man didn't look at them at all, almost as if he was afraid of them, but he gave no indication of this. They reached the hallway in short time and S'rashi saw the light of day… Something he thought he would never see again.

He'd beaten up Q'iam. Was it true? Had he really…

There would be ramifications, nonetheless… He was no longer the weak link… But now he'd made himself an enemy.

No, he'd basically hired the Dark Brotherhood to murder himself. Enemy was an understatement.

"You're the man that almost beat up Virk, aren't you?"

He heard the slight intake of air signaling a response, but evidently the man changed his mind. "This one saw you. S'rashi recognized you back in the arena." Still, his captor said nothing in return. "And from the island… Kezahkan's Isle, S'rashi believes?"

Saying that name seemed to make him react in some way. There was no physical indication, but he knew something had happened. It took a moment, but his grip faltered. S'rashi had yet to hear his voice, but he'd heard his peers giggle about how he spoke. Very odd for a Khajiit.

Not his tone of voice, but the way he used his words. I and me… S'rashi had never used the latter, and the former only for spelling.

The captain's cabin came into view, releasing pressure building up in his chest.

"What will you do with S'rashi?"

Still no answer. Maybe he was trying to find the words. The man knocked on the captain's cabin.

As his face fell into the light, S'rashi saw his eyes.

One was a vibrant emerald green, the pupil slitted like a cat. Or a serpent. The other was covered by a black eyepatch. S'rashi hid his grin. Ironic that someone looking like a pirate would end up on this ship. Fortunately for him, he didn't have a peg leg.

His hands were still covered with blood. Some of which was his own busted knuckles, mixed in with Q'iam's own red fluids.

The captain opened the door, observing the two. She scowled at S'rashi, but he paid her no mind. He was used to people giving him dirty looks. Especially when he got around septims…

"Come in." She said to the man, but still looked at S'rashi.

She opened the door fully, and the other Khajiit stepped inside. S'rashi did not trust this man. He didn't know his name, only that he was perfectly capable of ending Virk's, and in turn, S'rashi's life... S'rashi considered running for it, but there was nowhere to go on a ship like this, and he didn't want to anger the man further.

The room interior was red. Red curtains, red carpet, even the wood furniture in the room had a red tint to it.

A supporter of the emperor. That was quite obvious.

The Khajiit man sat down in a chair across from the orc captain. She wore steel armor, and on her back was a steel greatsword. Distancing herself from her past in the orc camps. S'rashi could read her all too well. He'd met many of her type. Everyone oppressed something in their past.

"What is your name? Who is your slaver?" Two very blunt questions. The cynical part of S'rashi wanted to say he was Q'iam, and he had been hiding in the food supply to sabotage the mission. "This one goes by S'rashi. And S'rashi's master is Virk Winter-Shield." He remembered what Virk had taught him to say after introducing himself. To brag on his master. "Cross him, and you will face his blade."

The captain gave a "huh" and one side of her mouth turned upward in a grin. "Can't wait to spar with that bigot…"

She turned to the Khajiit next.

"J'tar, why did you bring S'rashi to me?"

So his name was J'tar. Uncommon prefix where S'rashi came from.

"I found him in an area at the bottom of the ship. An arena of sorts. He was about to murder someone." S'rashi was about to shout that he did it in self defense, but J'tar seemed to read him and gave him a stern look.

"Must be the sparring room turned fighting ring…"

Yag muttered, rapping her fingers on the table.

"I want more on this," She said to S'rashi. She pointed to J'tar. "You may take your leave, if you wish to."

The other Khajiit rose from his chair and walked out without a word. He was one of the few crew members aboard that S'rashi couldn't read, or understand. His attention was directed away from J'tar and to Yag as she began to ask him more questions.

—-—

"They're running a fighting ring down there."

Do' bar shook his head.

"I wondered why I heard banging, and knocks on wood, and the occasional cry of agony during the night."

J'tar couldn't help but smile. "At least it wasn't a werewolf."

Do' bar looked up at the sky. Now that it was morning, it was cloudless. They'd anchored at an island that they hadn't charted on their previous voyage, but it seemed small and unintimidating. A few went out, but it was more to walk around on solid ground than explore.

"I kind of want to join them down there but…" J'tar began.

"Why not? Afraid as soon as you touch ground a legion of daedra will come from oblivion and murder you?" "Something like that…" J'tar muttered. Do' bar was about to smile, but then realized that J'tar was being legitimate. "You've grown paranoid as Ganlas."

J'tar turned to Do' bar in an instant, fists clenched and expression fierce. "Don't say his name."

Do' bar backed away a bit.

"And just as cold as well…"

He muttered under his breath.

The two stood silently for a moment.

"I apologize."

"The fault is on me, brother. I should not have spoken of him."

J'tar looked down into the shallow bright blue currents.

"I am reminded of him every day, by the smallest of things."

He looked up into the sky, thoughtful.

"I think of him when it is cloudy. When the sea is restless. I see him in the slaves on this ship. In the rotted planks of the older rooms. In every College representative." J'tar sighed and told his subconscious to quiet, as it longed to pour out more of himself.

"Thought I saw him in the Thalmor representative. They look somewhat alike."

"Aye." It was the only word J'tar could find.

— **-—**

 **Cutting it a bit short. I really need this one out to you guys.**

 **I won't apologize, we all have struggles sometime in life and we all are tested.**

 **As much as I'd love to talk about how J'tar is becoming more of a warrior, I can't just act like this is a normal outro.**

 **Truth is, there was a lot more going on than I mentioned in the goodbye letter in my profile page.**

 **While I won't get into that, I realize a lot of people didn't check my profile and don't know what occurred.**

 **I'm still going through these struggles, but it feels right to stop staring wistfully at my writing laptop that's collecting dust in the corner of my desk.**

 **If you guys ever need someone to confide in, or advice from a fellow author, or anything of that nature, PM me and I'll be glad to talk about it.**

 **And finally… I'm cutting off OC's, the deadline has passed. Sorry to everyone who wanted to make one, but I think that the OC problem was a huge part of my stress writing this.**

 **I won't terminate the OC's already in, that would be unfair. Thanks to everyone who supported me and all my readers for helping me through.**

 **Once I figure out how to post this again, I'll be much happier.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi guys :)**

 **As I write this it's in the last two days of school.**

 **Most of you probably got out already but I don't know how the school schedule works in Canada or the UK or northern parts of the USA.**

 **Today was the last day of school for me though because I had a head cold. The last two days we always get out early, it's really pointless to go anyways**

 **Last chapter was really removed from the plot, in a way. It pretty much focused on J'tar reprimanding S'rashi and nothing else.**

 **I was removed while writing that chapter, I guess you could say…**

 **I didn't start back writing immediately because I didn't get that many reviews or attention for the new chapter that quickly, so I was scared my readers left me.**

 **Even if most of you guys do leave, I'll stick around for the few that stay :)**

Birds tweeted, or cawed, or made whatever annoying little noises birds were known to make, overhead in the sky, where the sun's absence was marked clearly by the lack of light in the pitch sky, dotted with stars and attended by the two moons of Nirn.

"Has S'rashi really been in there that long…?" S'rashi said to no one in particular, in wonder. It felt like an hour of questioning… And it was bright outside when he'd been 'invited' in… Maybe he had come in later in the day…

No one else was on the deck, to his knowledge. A bird landed on the deck next to him, their feathers painted black in the darkness of night. S'rashi kicked at it on the way by. He hated birds. As a small child, he'd contracted avian flu from one, and it turned into rockjoint later on. Not having enough money, his family couldn't get him cured, or even get medicine. He'd coughed until he coughed up blood, and there was still a rough reddish patch on his chin fur where blood had dripped, like a stain in a carpet that could never be removed.

S'rashi was quite conflicted about heading back to his room. This was the first time he'd been free to walk around in quite a while… Besides, what could Virk do? He'd beaten up Q'iam just like Virk wanted him to. There was no way he could get into trouble for-

But then he saw Virk walking up the stairs to the deck in the lower floor, illuminated by the lanterns. The deck was completely dark, and S'rashi was concealed. But he scampered off into a corner anyway and ducked down. Virk looked around to see if anyone else was near him. Naturally, he wouldn't expect anyone to be walking around on deck, so it was more for reassurance than a precaution. And besides, S'rashi's pitch fur was nearly impossible to spot in the darkness.

Virk leaned against the railing on the port side of the ship, keeping a single hand on his greatsword hanging at his belt. There were footsteps nearby, and Virk tensed, stepping forward and putting one hand out to caution whoever was stepping up. S'rashi tensed as well, expecting some sort of fight to break out… But Virk lowered his hands and breathed a sigh of relief, and S'rashi sunk back into the corner.

"Thought you were someone else in that cloak…" Virk said, his deep Nordic voice echoing throughout the empty deck.

Whoever it was laughed, and came out from around the wall and into view. S'rashi was surprised to find every bit of their skin was covered in a black cloak; but then again, the hood was so big that, seeing it from the side, S'rashi couldn't see their face.

"I called this meeting to check on your progress, Virk. You've still made no move to… _Exterminate_ your target…" The voice was scratchy, and muffled. What race it belonged to, S'rashi could not tell. He couldn't even tell if it were male or female. Virk shook his head, and the movement jarred S'rashi, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm not cut out for this work. I'm no assassin. I've already told you of this." The figure's gloved hands balled into fists. "And I've told _you_ that you are the only one on board capable of doing this. I do not trust the two from the Brotherhood."

Virk cocked his head. "And why not?" The figure gave an evil sort of chuckle that sent a chill down S'rashi's spine, then began to cough loudly. It seemed they could not handle straining their voice, suggesting a damaged windpipe. "When you've seen as much as I have, perhaps you'll too gain a sixth sense…"

He stopped talking abruptly.

Slowly, his head turned towards S'rashi's hiding place. _By the divines…_ S'rashi thought to himself. It was the first time he'd acknowledged the gods in a long time… S'rashi stared, and the stranger stared back. Even with their head turned towards S'rashi, the cowl was so big that the face of the owner was concealed fully in a sheet of darkness.

"I thought I sensed something…" The person said. Virk brought a hand to his sword. "Is it still there?" Hesitant, but then in a confirming tone; "No. I believe it is gone. Perhaps a bird." S'rashi would sigh, but it would attract noise. A bird… Old fool…

Virk began to walk away, but the figure stopped him. "You presume that you have your cue to leave, Virk?" Virk grumbled and came back. "Before you go, do tell me how long it will take for you to kill your target?" Virk stood hesitantly. "I can't give you an exact time frame… The boy is still… Well, I don't think he is ready. I trust you know my plan?" "Yes, we've outlined it before. A perfect execution… And you won't even be to blame." Virk nodded. "Yes. I picked the most unlikely one of them as well. Sending up one of the stronger ones will trigger a threat immediately. The weakest must be trained."

He sighed. "Shame the boy has to die for all of it… I paid good money to hire him." The figure gave a cackle. "Just another expendable soldier, no? You've plenty more." Virk didn't change his expression. "Yes. I've plenty… But I hold this one in higher esteem from the rest. He has such a strong spirit. Disobeys and questions his commands. He's not just another mindless drone." The figure growled. "Enough of your pity! I"-

But it was then that a bird perched on S'rashi's shoulder, probably thinking he was a barrel or something. Instinctively, he swatted at it, then realized his mistake. The bird flew away, getting the attention of Virk and his friend. S'rashi didn't wait; he sprinted down the starboard side of the ship, before they could say a word.

"Kill that one!" The figure barked.

S'rashi's heart began to pick up, and a cold sweat broke out over his fur. He went into the nearest entrance, then, not slowing for a second, dashed down the stairs to his left, just as Virk made it into the hall. There was a servant carrying several barrels and crates at once through the hallway, struggling to lift them all with his strong Imperial arms. S'rashi formulated a plan. He grabbed his own tail and pulled it to his chest, so if Virk saw it while chasing him he'd think it was some sort of loose strap, and not identify him as Khajiit. He also ducked his head in a doorway, so it wouldn't be seen either. Thundering footsteps down the hallway...

Suddenly, S'rashi lashed out and pushed the servant down, making him drop all his crates and barrels. Virk reared back in surprise, and tripped over the rubble, even smacking his head on the edge of one of the crates. S'rashi ran back outside, past Virk, hoping he had not been seen while his trap had been set.

He was more familiar with this place; he knew the way back to his room from there. The figure, whoever it was, was gone now. There were footsteps in the hallway; S'rashi heard the masses coming to see what all the noise was. He ran down another hallway, and kept running until he reached the back of the ship.

Breathing heavily, he opened and then slammed shut the door. He turned around. All of the others were staring at him, Q'iam sporting a bloodied bandage to his forehead that covered one of his eyes. They stood and sat silently, unmoving. S'rashi didn't move either, one hand still on the doorknob. Someone in the corner, Maran-Dur, spoke up. "If Maran-Dur tells Virk on you, this one will get extra rations…" S'rashi seethed, but said nothing. No, wait. He'd beaten up Q'iam. He'd teach Maran-Dur his place as beta on this pack…

The midnight-colored Khajiit approached him, confident in his newfound strength. Maran-Dur did nothing but grin and then laugh as he drew closer. "What will the weak link do against this one's unbeatable strength"-

S'rashi grabbed the side of his head in almost an open-handed right hook and slammed it into the wall with as much ferocity as he could.

Maran-Dur collapsed as soon as impact occurred, sinking to the ground on his knees, his face sliding down the wall, and then collapsing on his side. The bang was the only sound that echoed in the small room for at least a full minute. Recovering from his rage, S'rashi now saw that there was a bloody streak down the wall, matching his blood red attitude perfectly.

As Maran-Dur lay motionless on the floor, S'rashi wondered if he'd really just done that.

—

 **So I'm going to try to make longer and longer chapters, but just uploading them these days seems like the most important thing right now.**

 **Next chapter I guess is going to be kind of a continuation of this one. I was really conflicted between cutting to J'tar or ending right there, so I guess next chapter I'll do the former.**

 **I'm really liking S'rashi right now. As I went back and read the stuff I'd written to catch up when I started back, I saw a lot of similarities between me and him, if it makes sense.**

 **We're both struggling to see what is best for us, and what's ethically right, and hoping not to mess everything up.**

 **All I think about these days are how easy it is to do bad things compared to doing good things.**

 **I hope I can get rid of these stress issues and live out the summer like a normal person :(**

 **But don't worry about me, I'm doing much better than I was, and it isn't stressful to write things anymore :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**My school got out an hour or so ago, officially, for the summer.**

 **No one really made a big deal about getting out, so it just feels like it's the weekend for me.**

 **To answer Inquisitor's question, yes, OC's will be reemerging in the plot.**

 **However, I did say OC, ahem, "production" will be shutting down.**

 **And by that I mean no new OC's.**

 **I know that it's a really selfish thing to do for me, just for my stress, and a ton of you guys like it.**

 **But I don't want this to become another "Kombat Academy" (A failed fanfiction) that people read for stuff about their favorite canon characters that turns into a select few reading about their own characters.**

 **It makes it suck for people who are reading, and it makes it** **suck when I realized** **what happened to the plot.**

 **Sorry if I sound a bit angry, but that's just how it is.**

 **Btw when Kombat Academy is finished, I'm making a no OC version, the way I should've left it.**

 **Let's end this intro on a happier note. Thanks to everyone who reads these intro notes. Ik most people skip over them.**

 **Btw I will be editing last chapter a bit. The servant S'rashi pushed over is actually Archer (A minor character from earlier in the book I meant to be a new friend for J'tar but kind of glazed over despite a few mentions)**

 **That was a long parentheses, wow. Archer is a Wood Elf, and I said the servant was an Imperial.**

 **Plus Archer isn't even a servant, he's researching Dwemer presence overseas.**

 **Also Virk is meant to sound like Vilkas (I think that's his name) from the companions.**

 **Right now I'm juggling the plot. New voyage, Kezahkan's son, Virk's mystery friend, J'tar's lycanism, S'rashi's conflicts, etc.**

 **And I usually talk about them for one chapter, it's going to be a long time before I get to all of them.**

 **So yeah. Ttyl.**

 **/**

 **Here I am apologizing twice :P**

J'tar helped the man up as other began to crowd around. "I'm fine, but thanks for the help." The man immediately fell back down again, slipping on a barrel.

J'tar recognized his bright orange hair and goatee, with his golden-tinted skin. Especially the big, elongated elfin ears. Archer. The wood elf laughed again and got back up. "I didn't recognize you, J'tar. Haven't seen you since yesterday."

The Khajiit didn't bother with formalities. "What happened to you?" Archer nursed a bruised arm. "I was carrying a load of things. I kind of expected it to end badly, carrying all that cargo, and then someone comes dashing down the hall. I thought it was one of the Imperial officers' kids at first, but then they shoved me over with such force"- "Did you see their face?" J'tar interrupted. "Why, no. My vision was mostly blocked by all the barrels and crates.

No one was making a commotion over Archer but J'tar. There was another man J'tar had seen getting up from the small wreckage, but he'd ran for the one that must've seen their face first.

As the other man was helped up, J'tar could see he was pressing a rag to his bloody forehead, which had been busted open on a crate's edge. He was wearing black plate armor. And he still had the bruises from his drunken brawl with J'tar. It was Virk…

The two made eye contact for about a second, as if they'd seen someone they knew, then awkwardly looked away. J'tar caught Virk taking another glance from the corner of his eye. He was frowning. Not sadly, but angrily.

Archer put a hand on J'tar's shoulder to get his attention. "If you aren't too busy, there's a matter that I need help with…"

S'rashi put his armor on the shelf, having changed into his servant clothes, a black ragged shirt with leather pants. Just in case Virk recognized the armor of one of his own. S'rashi wasn't one for risks. The others still were silent, staring at him, sitting on their bedrolls or standing against the wall, moved since he left to change, but still silent. The only one unmoved and making noises was Maran-Dur, who was groaning on the floor, clutching his forehead, and rolling around in pain.

Looking at the pitiful one, S'rashi almost felt sorry.

No, he did feel sorry. He wanted to go and bandage him, or do something. His fit of rage subsiding, S'rashi walked briskly across the room and put a hand on Maran-Dur to move him and see the wound. A growl was given and long claws were extended, slashing out at S'rashi's leg and making contact, ripping three small slashes and opening up small cuts in the shin. S'rashi flinched away, hissing in pain as he did so. He'd known from experience that Maran-Dur's claws were the sharpest of all the slaves. Maran-Dur shrunk back, rolling into a corner.

S'rashi turned to find that Q'iam was grinning.

The door busted open, and slammed into the wall. Every eye in the room went straight to it, wary of what it brought. Virk stormed into the room and skimmed his eyes over the Khajiits. What this was about, S'rashi didn't know. Perhaps he had been caught? It had been at least ten minutes since the chase, he thought he was in the clear. Virk skimmed over S'rashi quickly. He was bleeding from the forehead, S'rashi noticed. And breathing heavily, his face just as red as his blood.

"WHY IS IT THAT ONE OF MY OWN RUNS AND THEN ATTACKS ME?"

When no one answered, the looming Nordic warrior elaborated. "One of you ran from me when I…" He stopped. " _Called_ , and then brazenly attacked me?!" It wasn't exactly a brazen attack, but S'rashi reasoned now wasn't the time to argue. "I saw your armor! You aren't as clever as you think…" S'rashi was suddenly very glad he changed his clothes. "Which one of you did this?! And wh"- He cut himself off. He knew exactly why. He didn't want it revealed. Must be something important, S'rashi thought…

Who was that mystery figure? He knew nothing about them except they'd hired Virk to kill… And that was quite odd. Virk was no assassin. But it seemed as if he wasn't directly going to commit the murder, by the odd method that he discussed with whoever it was…

Q'iam stood, and pointed a finger. S'rashi instantly panicked, and it took him a moment to register that the finger was not pointed at him, but clearly at Maran-Dur. "Q'iam saw that one running about in his armor earlier. This one warned him to stay put. Maran-Dur does not listen. He fights. Q'iam fought back." Maran-Dur was unconscious.

Virk seemed to be calmer, but no less angry. "Is this true?" He asked a Khajiit sitting beside Maran-Dur in the corner. Q'iam nodded, out of Virk's vision. "Yes," the Khajiit said. "Maran-Dur tried to fight Q'iam as well. This one is not sure why, but Maran-Dur was in a fit of rage." Virk then turned to S'rashi for confirmation. S'rashi hesitated before speaking. He didn't want to directly blame S'rashi… "S'rashi was out of the room, changing. When S'rashi came back in, Maran-Dur was on the floor." Virk crossed the room and grabbed Maran-Dur by his collar. Easily lifting him, a bit of blood dropped onto Virk's boots.

" _One-hundred lashings."_

Those words would scar S'rashi's soul for the rest of his life.

—

"…And they said he bled out, and died, but I didn't believe it. Surely no one could get that mad at their slave, even for something like that."

J'tar got up and left. He'd been in the onboard bar. He didn't drink. He'd never make that mistake again, but he came to sit down and on occasion talk with whoever was willing. It was true. One of Virk's slaves had bled out after being lashed around sixty times. He'd heard supposed witnesses speaking about it in great detail, and that was the reason he went to the bar, but then, hearing it there, realized he had to leave the ship to escape rumors like that one. People liked bloody rumors. It'd be around for a few days.

He'd heard all the details. Died at around 60 lashings and Virk kept going. Kept whipping the dead body.

They'd anchored near a small island, around half the size of the ship. J'tar dropped down a ladder and onto the sand, the feeling of ground that didn't rock back and forth over waves welcoming to him. For a moment, as the sand blew against his face and hands, he closed his eyes and envisioned Elsewyr, particularly Dune.

He walked forward, his mind beginning to clear. J'tar had too much to think about these days… His thoughts lingered back to Hira-Tzai. It was something he'd suppressed for a while but had come back to him recently. Maybe it was a mistake, he considered, surprised that he hadn't come to this conclusion ever before. Maybe it was some other white-furred khajiit. There were plenty. They were rare, but plenty. Even rarer were the ones with tiger patterns on their faces. Like J'tar's. Who else looked like that? And the fact he was calm until he saw J'tar, and charged him first…

It was an odd… But J'tar didn't know whether to end that thought with reunion or coincidence. Even worse than that, Hira-Tzai now worked for the Stonedragons. A-

J'tar's heart skipped a beat as he slipped- no, _dropped_ down a vertical shaft. Instinctively he grabbed onto something to stop his fall, but the root he got a grip on ripped from the shaft wall, not able to support him. J'tar hit the ground with an unceremonious sound like a pile of rags dropping from a rooftop.

He tensed up, then felt sorry as pain spread throughout his being.

"Wait one moment before you stand up. It worked for me."

J'tar followed the voice's advice, not being able to see who it was in the darkness. He'd lost his Khajiit Vision when his right eye was permanently damaged. He hadn't been able to use the vision from his left since he was a child. He lay there, unmoving, for a few minutes. He was able to look straight up, and see he was quite deep in a circular hole.

Slowly, he got onto all fours, then onto one knee, then stood. Out of the darkness emerged a familiar figure.

J'tar wasn't scared to see him, having faced his fear of the man five years ago, but he couldn't say he wasn't extremely surprised. It was Pierric. Or rather, his ghostly form. An apparition, sent to warn him of something. No. A mirage. J'tar dismissed it as such. Foolish. Was he really insane? No surprise there either.

"What have the daedra sent you after me for, old enemy?"

"Nothing. My spirit wanders these islands. I fell into this pit and I am now unable to escape."

J'tar said nothing. He simply stared at his old adversary, now bearing a ripped up Stonedragon uniform, his eyes having no pupils, and a neutral expression on his face. J'tar himself could not understand why he was so neutral, staring into the dead eyes of a dead man. Perhaps this really all was a vision.

"I did many an evil thing in my life, J'tar. When the Stonedragon Chiliad was formed, I formed it in search of an ancient and powerful artifact. It is said that Akatosh used it to shape Tamriel. And Nirn as a whole."

Pierric sat down in the dirt and clay, ghostly white-blue tendrils escaping him towards the pit opening.

"We found not one but two. Three, actually, with a map that led to a fourth one."

 _Three._

"Where is the third? What have you done with it?" J'tar once more adopted the interrogative and angry tone he used long ago to deal with this man. This man who killed his friend. This man who killed a quarter of the original crew. This man who slashed out his right eye with a wicked rapier, and nearly stopped the voyage from returning home out of madness and foolishness.

Pierric laughed. In all there was to do, all that the Divines gave in emotion, in all their infinite glory, they gave laughter to Pierric.

"You think you can harm me? I'm already dead! I'm a ghost, J'tar!" He began to cackle loudly.

J'tar's back brushed against the wall of the cavern. It was the only thing keeping him standing.

"And you're a ghost too, J'tar! You share my fate!"

The cackling got louder.

And louder.

And louder still.

…

After an unprecedented amount of time it stopped, but by that time J'tar was already unconscious.

 **THE EXTERIOR 2, 3 YEARS IN THE MAKING**

 **Barely 3 years but still it's been a long time since the update!**

 **I'm planning to just write on and on and on and release it as ONE BIG JUMBO UPDATE.**

 **So sorry if your OC didn't get in, your OC DIED, your OC didn't get enough mention.**

 **OC's… Ugh. They were fresh and new and an exciting idea in the beginning but now they're what originally pinned me down.**

 **There will be very few authors notes and outtros from now on, probably none if I can help it!**

 **REASON I LEFT FOR SO LONG (FOR THE THIRD TIME) FF . NET WON'T LET ME SUBMIT CHAPTERS.**


	9. Chapter 9

**As much as I would like to address J'tar's findings in this chapter, the content of this one is more S'rashi's.**

 **You'll see what I mean, enjoy :)**

 **And a little thing I DIDN'T QUIT THE SITE QUIT ON ME. THIS TERRIBLE FAN FICTION PLATFORM IS SO BUGGY THAT I COULDN'T UPDATE UNTIL I GOT A NEW WRITING LAPTOP LIKE JEEZ KEEP UP YOUR STANDARDS DYU KNOW HOW MANY USERS YOU HAVE!?**

S'rashi opened his eyes, the soft rocking of the ship having put him back to sleep in a mid day nap. He was the only one in the cabin. He reckoned Virk had everyone else doing something.

It was then he remembered Maran-Dur. Looking over to his sleeping roll on the hard wooden floor, there was no shape curled up inside it. Surely Virk was done with whatever cruel punishment he had after the whipping. The norm was to send whoever crossed him back to the bunks to heal and rest but…

S'rashi was overcome with a feeling of grief he could not seem to explain.

Getting up out of his bedroll, he opened the door. No one in the hall outside, there was little to do in the lower cabins. And since this was the more dangerous part of the ship, where mercenaries and mages had their bedding, there were little outsiders around. S'rashi's grief was replaced by guilt; what was causing this?

Opening the door, he ran into a Dunmer in mage robes. _Expensive_ robes.He'd done this many times before, and couldn't help but grin to himself as his plan formulated and the kleptomaniac inside of him tossed and turned relentlessly. "S'rashi apologizes, sir!" S'rashi threw himself to the ground and prostrated before the Dunmer. He recognized this one as Dart, or Dirk, something like that. He'd seen his Destruction display back on Kezahkan's Isle, and heard the others congratulating him. The Dunmer offered him a hand, his expression of confusion more than annoyance.

"That's alright, we all make mistakes." His heavy Morrowind accent weighed in, his pale gray skin darker in this environment. "Many thanks. Please pardon this one." He continued on his way and in a briek moment, as soon as his back was turned, S'rashi relieved him of his coin purse.

Dart stopped, and for a brief moment, S'rashi's blood ran cold. The last time he'd been caught… He looked down at his hand, where the tips of the fingers had been cut off, leaving the ends flat. "You wouldn't happen to be one of Virk's… _Crew,_ would you?" S'rashi noted his use of the word Crew instead of Slaves. "Yes, my master is Virk Shatter-Shield. Cross- …" He left out the last part of Virk's introduction as he realized no one was around to tell him to say it.

Dart became uncomfortable, it was obvious by his face, and the odd feeling of grief that S'rashi had returned at double the original depth.

"There was this one of you… Maran-Da, I think? He… He's dead."

Now S'rashi knew what this guilt feeling was. Maran-Dur…

"H- … How?"

"Virk… He lashed him. Maran-Dur bled out. I don't know the details, but I hate to be the bearer of bad news. I didn't see much of…" But Dart faded out and S'rashi heard only the pounding of the waves outside on the ship walls of the lower cabins. A plain, a dark plain with a dark gray sky and black grass had been entered that day. And in that plain resided beasts of all sorts, daedra, dragons, murderers, assassins and bandits, and killers…

And now, S'rashi.

"Oh, and I see you relieved me of my septims. I think I'll take that back. I saw it but I didn't think…"

 _J'tar_

J'tar

"J'tar!"

He shot up off the ground, his head aching, and he groaned in discomfort and pain. Raindrops fell on his head and he discovered his clothes were wet. And the dirt that once filled the bottom of the pit he now laid in had turned to mud and clay in the wet. He looked up and his eye was stung by a cold drop of rain.

"J'tar!"

"I hear you." Looking up once more, he saw Do'bar standing at the pit and looking down. "I'm going to pull you up. What are you doing down there anyway?" "Oh, I just thought I would have a nap and it looked like a nice place to rest my head, all this soft mud and filth… If this ever comes out of my clothes, the Divines will bless me…"

A stick tapped him on the top of the head and Do'bar's wooden quarterstaff came into view.

"You will fall in here with that and we'll both die down here! Go tell someone what you're doing at least!"

"Already did, little brother!" "Always two steps ahead of me." "That is what I am here for, my friend. Now grab hold!" J'tar did, and felt a surge of strength in his legs. He soared up and out almost instantly, and he and Do'bar both realized it was not the latter's strength that brought him out.

"By the eight, that was quite the display! Where did you learn to jump like that?" "I… Didn't. Let's go back inside." "And have another bottle, eh?" "I don't feel like taking a steel gauntlet to the face. Not today, at least." "Heh, you wouldn't have if not for the Lilmothiit!" "I don't know. I was rusty anyways. Still am."

Looking over the edge of the ship at the deserted stern into the icy black waters below, S'rashi wondered what it felt like in Maran-Dur's last moments. He'd made a snide remark to earn _food_ to S'rashi and what had S'rashi done? Opened his skull on a wall and painted it crimson red with his own blood.

Not only that, but then Maran-Dur was blamed for his assailant's crime, and his assailant acted innocent. _Lied._ He was dragged to wherever horrible place Virk took him with a severely hurt head and lashed sixty times before he died.

Even then, his body was lashed another forty times. And if he was lucky he was fed to the hungry sea. And not given to whatever necromancer paid Virk for those he killed. And all S'rashi would endure was a drop into the sea. That would end _his_ life. S'rashi was somewhere he'd never been, mentally.

He was about to commit suicide.

And had no more turmoil or conflict in it.

To atone for the life he had taken, he would join Maran-Dur in Aetherious, or Sovngarde, or wherever the dead resided.

A single tear falling down his face onto the deck, he would do the same. Fall from the ship, into the abyss.

"What are you doing up here?" The aetherial drums of thunder and a white bolt of jagged lightning decided to strike down on the figure. Not on, but behind him. It gave him a foreboding presence and aura, not one of an enemy or detriment but one of a stranger. Even though S'rashi was disconnected from the world here on the edge, he felt an anchor in this stranger. What an odd thing, to know a stranger, a parallelism.

An odd thought. But odd thoughts and words came to those about to die. The figure stepped forward and S'rashi scampered back, one foot on the railing of the ship. One more foot closer to death's embrace.

"What are you doing?"

"This one has killed. And for that which he has killed, he must atone."

The figure understood, but didn't move. "That isn't a light thing, to kill yourself." It was a Khajiit voice. A comfort, to hear the voice of one of his own before death. The voice was neutral. It disheartened S'rashi. It did not try to prevent, but did not seem to care for the loss of life. Perhaps the care was hidden.

"Tell me; why do you do this?"

S'rashi once more was disheartened. He _wanted_ care, he _wanted_ someone to beg him not to do it. Just so he could hurt them and make them watch. But wasn't he hurting himself because he hurt another? Yet another pre-mortem parallelism. "Why should S'rashi tell you? This one should stop wasting time and"-

Immediately he realized an error as the sharp pain registered in his heart, his soul, the fiber of his being. The weakness of the broken language spoken by the Khajiit. He had revealed his name to this stranger, and as another lightning bolt hit, this time in the tossing waters behind S'rashi, it illuminated the figure just in time for the boy to make out an eyepatch on a gray-furred face, the face having a tiger pattern.

J'tar. The man who… Stopped him from killing Q'iam. Another killing. He questioned: Would he be doing the same for Q'iam?

"T… This one does this act because of Maran-Dur!"

"What did he do?"

"He did nothing but have his life slowly tortured out of him!" The stranger- _J'tar-_ made yet another step towards the cynical boy and two feet were placed on the railing, balance gained from many years spent running on Valenwood rooftops from guards looking to regain their coin purses. J'tar lifted another foot ever so slightly that even he barely realized it, but realized planting it would be death, and instead sat down comfortably. Comfortably as one can be when it is pouring rain on the deserted stern of a hard wooden ship in a raging storm while consoling one that wanted to take their own life.

"What will you do if I jump?"

"An odd question." The storm began to fade and the two did not have to shout to hear one another.

"S'rashi's last thoughts should be answered, no?"

"What is there to do? You will be a memory of a troubled boy who could have had so much if he'd only stayed aboard." S'rashi was reminded of Valenwood again. He remembered a Bosmer boy on the roof of a tall building he had a job on that was going to jump. They talked to him so neutrally, so uncaring, that he settled down.

Venom filled his blood and chilled his heart. To be reminded of his childhood _here_ , where there was no return. He turned towards the sea.

"Wait!"

Why would a single insignificant word stop him from the draw of the eternal sleep?

"S'rashi, I cannot pretend that I do not feel for Maran-Dur's death. To hear of a slave's death makes me wonder if it could have been me." He was stalling, clearly. Someone was going to try and grab S'rashi just before he jumped. But where would they come from?

It was only J'tar and S'rashi.

"And I was in the same situation as you are now once."

What?

Yet another single insignificant word to stop him from being eaten by the sea. But this time he had thought of it.

"When I was nineteen I thought I was invincible, and so did…" He paused. But seeing the importance of the situation, he decided to call upon his memories. Those he repressed. "So did my brother. We stole and we got in with the gangs of Dune, and we… Killed when we had to."

S'rashi was now angry. "You killed and you have not the honor or respect to take your own life?"

"If we took our own lives for those we killed this ship would be empty."

S'rashi could now distinguish the warm tears starting to flow down his face from the icy raindrops piercing his skin. "What do you know of pain? Of death and misery?!" He screamed at the man, his already cold throat burning. He knew that J'tar, whoever this mysterious… _Beast_ was, he had been through his share. But now S'rashi had no emotions for anyone else.

"When I was nineteen my parents were killed. A rival gang wanted to hurt me for a loss they'd suffered."

S'rashi and J'tar and the world went quiet. _Mother. Father._

Memories flooded the young boy's consciousness.

S'rashi at ten, his father teaching him the art of the bow.

Children mocking him for his mixed Bosmer-Khajiit parentage.

Someone yelling at his mother, her own father, for whom she loved.

His father and his uncle arguing of the same.

S'rashi returning home to find his parents were gone.

Looking everywhere and not seeing them.

Screaming for his father and mother until a guard found him and wrapped him in a blanket, and took him outside to the other guards amassed, questioning witnesses.

Only now S'rashi had unlocked a new suppressed memory.

Two bodies laid side by side and draped under a cloth, slowly turning red from their stab wounds.

A man shouting about the abomination of a child they'd created, a Khajiit with Bosmer blood. His uncle he never met.

His… Parents.

As he felt J'tar's hand rest on his shoulder, he wondered just how he'd gotten off the rail and beside the man.

"Sometimes it takes mere words to let someone know the world hasn't ended."

 **DISCLAIMER I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT TALKING PEOPLE OUT OF SUICIDE.**

 **I asked a friend a rhetorical question about it and they said it's all about stalling for time until the regrets kick in. Tried to get J'tar in with that with telling his story about his own troubled youth.**

 **And then I realized I would rather reveal that jazz later, in my next major arc. In the next chapter.**

 **Ik I dropped a new plot point with Pierric's ghost last chapter and the discovery of a third pyramid but there's nowhere that fits in here.**

 **And if J'tar seems uncaring about last chapter's new arc in his short bit he** _ **is**_ **meant to be a little in denial.**

 **:) Like I said keeping these short and sweet. Outtros, not the chapter.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Returning from a super long hiatus really makes you hype**

 **Idk how long it will last but I am going to complete this story, 100%.**

 **If anything.**

 **Ever had a really good plot point screaming at you to include it in your chapter but you haven't addressed the one you left off in another chapter yet because of another plot point?**

 **Me rn**

 **And a little thing I DIDN'T QUIT THE SITE QUIT ON ME. THIS TERRIBLE FAN FICTION PLATFORM IS SO BUGGY THAT I COULDN'T UPDATE UNTIL I GOT A NEW WRITING LAPTOP LIKE JEEZ KEEP UP YOUR STANDARDS DYU KNOW HOW MANY USERS YOU HAVE!?**

 **Figured I should go ahead and say NO MORE OC'S PLEASE. I really can't shoehorn anymore into the plot that I'm trying to shoehorn now, I'm shoehorning Ulfric, Wolvia & Serah, Dart, Serrgius, Sandrin, Azi, and Torriath. And like 12 others.**

 **If you ever go the OC route writing it's a dangerous road, friend. My advice: make a list of your OC's so the PM doesn't go away and the comments don't get lost and they PM you saying "what happened to -" and I PM "who?"**

"What took you so long?"

J'tar sat across from Do'bar in his booth, his clothes cold and wet by the rain outside. "Spending so much time in this tavern, I'm beginning to think that you're an alcoholic." Do'bar chuckled. "Hey, I'm not the one that got drunk to all Sovngarde the first time I"- "Divines, will you remind me of this every time?" "As much as I can. By the way, what were you doing earlier? I've been waiting forever."

J'tar paused, as if he was thinking about what he was saying and if he should say it. After all, S'rashi's troubles were his own.

"I was just picking up Rohan's sword from Ulfric. Feels empty with an empty sheath." "Aye, ever since I left Ganl…" Do'bar faded, and J'tar remembered his violent outburst when he had been compared to their former master. "Anyways, funny you found that hole there, there were about 12 others on the island. Very curious." J'tar's head perked back up. Twelve? Besides the one he'd fallen in? It was settled, this was no natural occurrence, someone had deliberately placed them there. Why, though? What purpose could one have for placing large pits in small, insignificant islands?

"A trap!"

"What?" "The pits, they're traps! For the indigenous people!" "Impossible, the indigenous people were wiped out by disease when the Stonedragons came, you weren't there when we saw the afflicted." J'tar pondered for a moment. "Someone put them there." "They are ancient." "Or maybe there is someone still there. Still out there, somewhere."

Do'bar's expression turned grim. "I hope to the divines there isn't. And if they are, I hope they are friendly."

The midnight-furred Khajiit sat in the slave room, awaiting whatever punishment Virk was going to put him through. Having not spoken to his master in several hours or been called upon either Virk was very busy with pressing matters, or he was looking for S'rashi. Generally if it was the latter it would not have a favorable outcome to S'rashi.

The door opened.

"S'rashi is sorry for his absence! Is there anything that he can do to"- Q'iam stared at him like he was someone not supposed to be there. "Don't apologize to me. After all, Q'iam is not alpha slave anymore. It is S'rashi." S'rashi looked away in embarrassment. "This one will be leaving." Before Q'iam could say anything else, he left. He had nothing to say to the gray-furred Khajiit, nothing that he could think of anyway. Especially now, remembering the carefree way that Q'iam himself was the one to start off the chain of false accusations leading to Maran-Dur's death.

It came to S'rashi that Maran-Dur would not have killed himself if he'd gotten S'rashi killed. Not at all. He would have kept going. These were thoughts less favorable and so S'rashi purged them from his mind. To waste one's life for another… What had come over him? Men died every day to other men but would they throw themselves to the sea? Before opening the door to go outside, he heard heavy footsteps and stepped away, knowing Virk was on the other side, the signature sound of metal armor echoing through the lower cabins already. But when the door opened, an Orc woman that he recognized as the captain stepped through. Yarg? Yurg? No, Yag. So many names, so many people to remember…

She stood awkwardly. "I assumed your master was down here. Where is he, I must speak to him." S'rashi did not know what to say, and luckily for him, Q'iam leaned out of the doorway, S'rashi noticing he still had a bandage on his head. "He is drunk in the tavern. Q'iam told him he must not drink anymore and received a black eye. This one deserves it." For a moment Yag was about to say something but Q'iam interrupted her. To Yag it may not have seemed so but S'rashi could clearly see that he'd waited for her to start so he could on purpose. "Q'iam's master is Virk Shatter-Shield. Cross him, and you will be crushed."

Yag's face was disgusted for a moment, but resumed. "Very well. You two will come with me. The two… _cagefighters_ can make up for their master."

Q'iam's face twisted into a grin. It gave an odd appearance, a beaten up cat with a bandage and a black eye, already scarred before all of that. His smile had a curve on the edge on the right, turning downwards, so it looked funny, as if half of him was sad and the other half was happy.

Why Q'iam would be happy about being called a cagefighter S'rashi would never know.

Captain Yag turned back to S'rashi. "Go to the blacksmith, he's filled an order for you placed by Shatter-Shield." Curiously, S'rashi left. He remembered throwing his hatchet at something on Kezahkan's isle and not getting it back, but in light of all the recent… _adventures_ he'd forgotten all about it.

…

Seeing it was a Nord from a short distance, S'rashi was a bit nervous. Nords and Khajiit were like water and oil. As were any other race they were not accustomed to. But as the ship's blacksmith saw him, he gave a warm smile that calmed S'rashi more than anything that day. It came to him that only hours earlier he was going to commit suicide.

"S'rashi, right?"

"It is i." He noticed a Khajiit girl around his age sitting on a crate and occasionally handing the blacksmith tools. Her fur was patched and she was thin, the light armor she wore looking heavy. She caught him staring and quickly looked away as well. "I don't believe we've met, S'rashi. My name is Ulfric."

The blacksmith towered over S'rashi, and the setting sun behind him gave him a long shadow that darkened the already midnight-furred Khajiit.

"This one has not seen you before."

Ulfric smiled, going over to a chest and rooting through it for something. "Azi, will you be leaving with the rest of them?"

The female Khajiit gave a low purr. "This one hates water. It will be good to touch warm sands…" At the mention of it both S'rashi and Azi looked off into the distance, imagining the deserts on their fur. S'rashi almost laughed out loud. He found it funny all Khajiit shared the effect. Many races shared things. Looking over at the hulking blacksmith, soot on his vest and a smile on his face.

 _Perhaps not all Nords…_

The smile on Ulfric's face made him think of his parents. He suppressed the thought, then gradually let it seep in, and accepted a war axe wrapped in a bundle of cerulean cloth. "Try not to lose that one, I put a good effort making it look like something from Summerset." Maybe it was better than his old one. Pretty much a sharp rock tied to a stick-

From within the bundle gold and silver shined and reflected on his face in the sun, casting him a pale yellow tint. Before him, in the cloth, was an Elfin war axe, straight from the forge. S'rashi looked up at Ulfric, not knowing how to say 'thank you', or repay him, or what to do to show his gratitude.

No one had shown kindness in the form of a gift to the boy since he was ten, and still in Valenwood. "M-master ordered this? For S'rashi?" Ulfric's hearty smile increased seeing his axe in good hands, and S'rashi caught the slightest smirk from Azi.

"Well, he ordered you a steel one but everyone wants steel and the damn Empire sent me two crates of Elfin and one crate of what I actually need." He gave a chuckle. "It was less of a resource strain. And I know how it feels to lose a weapon you've fought with for quite a while."

S'rashi could already sense the presence of Virk from across the deck, and the mixed emotions coming from him.

Most of which was grim.

"You didn't tell me you made contact."

"We haven't made contact. Across the language barrier, at least."

Yag looked at the failing interpreter from a distance, J'tar studying the spectacle.

A native of the islands was excitedly trying to explain something, and the Imperial interpreter was excitedly telling the others the wrong thing. Yag marched forward, J'tar trailing behind. He wished he had a chance to _think_ and reminisce on the day's events, but one thing led to the next and the next.

Pierric's appearance was a vision. He was convinced of this; out of common sense…. And out of fear. J'tar touched the brow over his eyepatch, his hand quivering. The battles came back to him, the fallen and falling comrades, men turned to corpses and fed to the sea which itself was crying to stop being forcefed the blood of sons and brothers…

J'tar growled like a feral animal and realized what he was doing but it was too late as his claws extended and raked across his brow, drawing warm blood.

Yag stared, reaching her hand and snatching it back as he twitched once. "Are you…?"

"I am not alright, no. There is something you and I must discuss"-

"By the nine, he wants you to follow him! He's pointing and jumping, idiot!" Sandrin gave a heavy sigh and jerked his head towards the native's direction, signaling the crew to follow, an exasperated glance passing between him and the interpreter. Seeming to understand the basic concept of what Sandrin was saying, the native grinned ear to ear and began walking ahead into the forest that made up the island.

It was an odd sort of geography, the island. Most of the time you would see tropical grasslands or forests, sometimes dying coniferous suggesting strong winters right on the beaches.

J'tar followed, deep in thought, dabbing at the deep scratch over his eye with a cloth Yag gave him.

Climbing down the ladder from the ship, S'rashi almost fell off as the rope moved about in the wind. After him, Ulfric was able to get down with ease, his weight keeping the ladder still. Azi too had difficulty but managed to make it down. S'rashi looked at the bright blue water under the ship; the bottom of the ocean- or rather the sandbank- was visible. He'd never seen such bright waters in his life, apart from on an island far from the coast of Valenwood where his parents had taken him once. Everything began to remind him of those memories now that he'd let them pass; the trees were tall like those in his homeland, the water full of life, the sands bleached pale white… S'rashi felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Ulfric.

"You coming?"

S'rashi turned and began walking. He realized he'd been staring into the water under the ship. "Of course. This one was… Deep in thought." "I was wondering too how they managed to get the ship right on shore with no problems; it's as if the natives dug out a large portion of the sand so ships as big as ours could…" Ulfric noticed someone and walked towards the main group ahead of them, a smile on his face, leaving S'rashi and Azi.

"So, what do you do on this ship?" Better to make conversation than make awkward silence, S'rashi reasoned. "Azi helps Ulfric as his assistant. Easy work, and otherwise I would have nothing to do. The Imperials did not want Azi here, this one is a stowaway again, but this time no one cared." Azi's face was hidden by a hood attached to her armor.

"S'rashi is the slave of Virk Shatter-Shield." The afterwards silence was awkward, and he had not foreseen making conversation leading to this.

One hand on the Elfin war axe, S'rashi was not sure if he wanted to use it or not, looking at the burly native.

When he got sight of it, J'tar stopped, and so did his heart for a moment.

A village sat in the middle of a small valley, filled to the brim with Natives. A _Tamrielic_ village. He observed the Nords, Bretons, Orcs, Elves, and even some of his own milling about. There were walls constructed of mixed stones and sharpened logs, with few entryways besides the one that they'd came in. The group from the ship overlooked it all from a hill, a short trail leading into camp.

The native jogged into came, a grin from ear to ear, waving them on. "Yag?" "Yes, J'tar?" "What do we do now?" "… I'm not sure."

J'tar stared between his captain and the settlement. It had clearly been built by some form of Tamrielic and Akaviri people, and had been a long time in the making; while not being some huge city these people made up for the materials that the island did not possess with what they did have, and looking down there it seemed that in some cases they'd done it better.

People were gathering below at the main entrance, and he noticed from lip reading that when they made conversation it was in Tamrielic. "How…" While the others celebrated and cheered; their voyage's purpose was served in a mere month and some; Yag and her close subordinate knew that when questions were to be asked there was no celebration until they were answered.

His eyes following the black furred form of S'rashi, J'tar gave a long and heavy exasperated sigh, and followed Yag into the settlement, remembering to mark in his voyage journal that this was the most eventful day of his life.

 **When you have Ulfric running ahead to meet up with Yag and after the cut J'tar is with Yag and Ulfric isn't and you're too lazy to rewrite your mistakes**

 **This is a mile-marker we've reached, the Exterior was 20 chapters long and I'm planning the same length for its predecessor.**

 **Thus begins phase 2.**

 **Sounds badass doesn't it**


End file.
